


Big fish, small pond.

by Anonymous



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, dark themes, edelgard spoilers, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-01-25 01:43:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21348199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Adalicia loves her big brother, her little brother, and all of her siblings. (An OC-centric fic centered around one of Edelgard's siblings.)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 55
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I - Light, II - Darkness, III - Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'd like to warn you that in this fic I do go into a decent bit of detail with some extremely dark themes, as I know this can bother some people. If you're made uncomfortable by such things, I would not recommend you read this fic. 
> 
> (This was largely written as a way to vent through some stuff, so I’m so sorry at how messy this is, in both plot and everything else.)

* * *

**I - Light: **Adalicia loves her big brother, her little brother, and all of her siblings. 

* * *

Adalicia von Hresvelg is seven when big brother Leopold takes her to the stables for a birthday surprise. 

It is the twenty first of Horsebow Moon, and there is a slight chill in the air as Adalicia walks behind her older brother. She tugs at his pant leg, jumping up and down in excitement. 

“What is it, Leo?” she says. “Pretty please, tell me! What is it?”

Leopold chuckles. “It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you before we got there, would it?”

He gives her a smile when she pouts at him.

“Be patient, Licia. You’ll see when we get there.” 

He ruffles her hair. “And I can guarantee you’re going to want to tell _ everyone _ all about what big brother Leo got for you.”

“Because you’re the best big brother ever and got me something super amazing?” she asks, as she moves to hold his hand instead of dragging behind.

Leopold slows his walking down, and allows her to take his hand with a smile. 

“That’s right. You had better make sure to tell Alcuin that,” he says. “He’s been spreading lies about being your favorite.”

“Mmmm, if you keep taking so long,” she shrugs. “He might be my favorite. He promised to take me sailing when he gets his own boats.”

“Please.” Leopold scoffs in mock offense. “Boats cannot top this. Trust me on this one, Lici, I’ll be your favorite.”

They finally reach the back of the stables, and in the last stall on the left, which was previously empty (she would know, she is here all the time), is now occupied by a gray dappled pony. 

“No way!” she says, with a gasp. “You _ didn’t _.”

He grins. “I don’t know, did I? Go look.”

He nudges her towards the door of the stall.

“Oh, my goodness!” She says, running over. “You actually got me a pony! This is the best birthday ever. Thank you, Leo.” 

The pony sticks his head out of the front, leaning over, and Adalicia giggles as he presses his nose into her hands searching for treats.

“Does he have a name?” she says, rubbing his nose.

“You get to name him,” says Leopold with a grin, as she looks between him and the pony with her lips forming a surprised ‘o’.

“I get to name him?” she says. “So I can call him Cookie?” 

He chuckles. “Yes, you can, if that is what you wish.”

She takes a moment to think, before nodding. 

“It’s what I wish.”

Leopold waves one of the stablehands over, before turning back to Adalicia.

“Then Cookie it is,” he says. “Say, would you like to take him for a ride?”

She grins at him. “You bet!”

* * *

“Big sister,” says Adalicia, as she approaches Lorelei. “Will you come for a ride with me and Hilbert?” 

She puts down her quill, before sighing and glancing over towards Adalicia. 

“Lici, I’m busy,” she says.

“With what?” Adalicia gets up on her tippy toes and peers over the desk on what Lorelei is working on. “You studying again?” 

“Yes, and shouldn’t you be?” Lorelei frowns, setting down her quill neatly. “If I recall, your governess has you working on magical theory, yes?”

“But that’s _ boring _, Lorelei!” Adalicia groans. “I don’t wanna do work right now. And Hilbert and I were gonna race, and we need a third person to make sure he doesn’t cheat!”

Lorelei raises an eyebrow. “And you chose to come to me instead of Leopold or Alcuin?”

Adalicia shrugs. “They’re busy right now. Said something about army business.”

Lorelei frowns. “And yet _ I’m _ not busy to you?” 

Adalicia nods. “Yeah. Gretchen said you were free right now. She said I should ask you to come with us. She doesn’t want us going on our own.”

“What about Bernard?” She says, trying to send Adalicia’s attention to any of their other siblings.

“He’s in lessons right now. Imelda and Griselda are too.” 

Lorelei almost wants to curse her luck. She was supposed to have a quiet afternoon. A peaceful afternoon to catch up on her studies.

Lorelei sighs. “You aren’t going to take no for an answer, are you?”

“No.” Adalicia grins, showing off her gap toothed smile. “And even if I did, Hilbert won’t.”

“Well then, I suppose I’ll just have to come for a ride with you two, won’t I?” she says with a fond smile.

“Really?” says Adalicia, surprised. “You’ll come with us?”

“Of course I will,” says Lorelei, “I have to be the responsible older sister, after all. Someone has to make sure you two don’t get into trouble.”

After all, what’s the worst that can happen?

* * *

Lorelei takes it back. This was a horrible, terrible, _ awful _ idea. She almost wants to curse Leopold for giving Adalicia that pony. That _ thing _ is a demon in disguise. Its small, cute appearance hides a menace beneath.

Lorelei has never been one for horses. 

She can ride them, of course, as all noble children can. It’s a skill that’s been practically ingrained in her since the day she could sit in a saddle. That does not mean, however, that she enjoys it.

Lorelei does not have her own horse for herself. She never saw the need, as she doesn’t usually enjoy riding for leisure. Plus, her older sisters are usually more than willing to share, and when they are busy, there are always several other horses in the stables that she can use. 

The pony she takes for the day is called Thunder, and she is Imelda’s. Imelda and Griselda, like Adalicia and Hilbert, love to ride. Unfortunately, though, sweet Imelda’s pony does not match her personality.

She is a timid thing, quick to spook, far different than Imelda’s confident demeanor. 

The ride starts off peaceful enough, everyone riding at a decent, slow, pace. In fact, it is rather calming, and Lorelei was possibly going to reconsider her stance on horses, until Cookie decides to nip Thunder. 

Thunder spooks, and she takes off running, with Lorelei along for the ride.

Lorelei weaves her fingers in Thunder’s mane and holds on for dear life. Hilbert and Adalicia urge their horses on behind her, laughing and giggling. 

_Why did I agree to this?_

By the time Lorelei finally manages to calm Thunder down, and eventually slows her to a stop, her heart is racing in her chest, and she still has her fists clenched tight in Thunder’s mane.

“You wanted to race too, huh?” says Adalicia, as she pulls up by Lorelei’s right, seemingly blissfully unaware of the fact that it was her horse that started this whole ordeal. “And here I thought you were a stick in the mud, Lorelei!”

“Yeah!” echoes Hilbert, “That was so much fun! You won the race, big sister!”

Adalicia and Hilbert laugh, and it’s infectious. Lorelei still does not enjoy riding, but she has to admit that seeing her younger siblings smile and laugh without a care in the world makes it slightly more tolerable, just by a little bit. 

Because the way things are, most of this family doesn’t have a lot to smile about. But it’s best that the children don’t know about such things for now.

Not if they don’t have to.

* * *

“Licia! Licia! Did you hear? Did you hear?” says Hilbert, opening Adalicia’s door and running through excitedly. “Big sister El and Uncle are coming home soon!”

“Really?” she says, perking up. “It feels like it’s been so long!”

“I still don’t get why we couldn’t go with her,” grumbles Hilbert. “I wanted to go to Faerghus too…”

“Me too,” says Adalicia. “But Uncle said that we couldn’t.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Hilbert sighs. “But ever since they left, everyone’s been so down, and I don’t know why.”

He shrugs. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I miss big sister El, but like, she’s gonna come back, yeah?”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.” Adalicia nods. “I don’t get it either. Leo won’t tell me what’s going on. He’s been so stressed recently, and always going on trips.”

Hilbert frowns. “So has Lorelei. She doesn’t look like she’s been getting much sleep.”

“Imelda and Griselda have been tight-lipped too, and I haven’t seen Bernard and Alcuin in a while. Jaeger’s been busy too,” replies Adalicia.

“Karolina and Gretchen have been running themselves ragged,” says Hilbert. “It honestly feels like we don’t get to see the rest of our brothers and sisters much anymore.”

Adalicia nods in agreement. “Yeah. I want things to go back to the way they used to be.”

“Me too,” says Hilbert. 

There’s a brief pause, before he changes the subject. 

“You think Uncle and El are going to bring us back anything cool?”

Adalicia hums. “I hope so, Uncle usually gives the best gifts. Maybe he got me a new doll!”

“The best gifts, huh?” says Leopold, walking in. “Was Cookie not better than a doll?”

They both turn and grin as they see Leopold. 

“Big brother Leo!” they cry, springing up and running over to hug him.

“Hey, hey,” says Leo, trying to stay balanced as his two siblings crash right into him. “Easy there, I was only gone for a week!”

“A week is a long time,” mutters Adalicia, sticking her face into his clothes.

“Yeah,” agrees Hilbert. “Too long.”

“I know,” Leopold wraps one arm around each of them. “I’m sorry.”

He takes a moment to think before grinning. “I guess I’ll have to make it up to you two, then.”

Hilbert and Adalicia glance at each other before looking up at Leopold with matching grins.

“Race?” they say.

“Race,” Leopold confirms.

“Yes!” exclaims Hilbert. “Alright!”

“You’re forgiven,” says Adalicia, in a voice all too serious for a nine year old.

“Oh?” Says Leopold, raising an eyebrow. “Well then, I’m glad you’ve forgiven me, Princess Licia, Prince Hilbert.”

He carefully removes himself from their grips. “Shall we go to the stables, then?”

* * *

**II - Darkness:** After El and Uncle come home, everything changes.

* * *

By now, Adalicia knows that you follow the rules or you get hurt. She is ten, and she has eleven siblings, one younger, ten older. And none of them can do anything to make it stop.

Big brother Leopold has been gone for a while now. He said he’d come back soon when he walked away with the bad men. 

_“Be brave, okay?” he said, as Gretchen held her back from reaching for him. “I’ll be back soon.”_

But he didn’t come back soon. He didn’t come back soon, he didn’t come back at all. 

_Twelve._

But the bad men did. The masks and robes kept on coming. They came for Hilbert next. He cried and cried and cried, begging for one of them to help, to do something, anything, but they were all just as powerless. She watched, as he was dragged off too.

_Eleven._

A hesitant Gretchen was the next to go. One of the oldest, she looked shockingly calm as she was hesitantly led away. 

_Ten._

One by one, they kept counting down. 

They came for Lorelei, whose once steady hands now shake. 

_Nine._

They came for Bernard, who trembles as he is escorted out. 

_Eight._

Next was Griselda, who gives her a warm hug before she walks out. 

_Seven._

They come for Imelda soon after, saying “maybe it will work with the other twin.” It doesn’t.

_Six. _

Next they came for Jaeger, saying that “Maybe this time it’d work with the boy. We were so close.”

It doesn’t. Jaeger doesn’t come back. None of them ever do.

_Five. _

They slow down, briefly, before coming for Alcuin, but like all the others before him, he, too, does not return. 

_Four. _

Karolina is the next to go, and she gives Adalicia’s hand a reassuring squeeze with a “Stay strong, okay?”

_Three._

One by one, they kept on coming, until eventually they came for her. 

She and Edelgard share a sad glance as she walks out. 

“See you later, big sister El,” says Adalicia with a small, sad wave. 

She is so, so, scared. She wants to break down and cry, but she doesn’t. They do not like it when you cry. If you cry, they hurt you more. She knows this all too well from when they dragged Hilbert out, kicking and screaming. 

She has no energy left to kick and scream anymore. It’s not worth it. 

Edelgard waves back, with a sad glance as a few silent tears drip down her face, but she does not respond with words. 

By now, they are both well aware that it isn’t likely that she’ll be coming back.

_Two._

* * *

Her new normal is exhausting. They always want so much from her. 

They want her to stay still, to_ "be a good little girl and do what they tell her.” _She doesn’t want to. They hurt her, they poke her, they prod her, and she hates every second of it. But if she does not do what they say, it gets worse.

If they ask her to jump, she is not allowed to ask how high. She simply needs to do it. Asking questions makes things worse. If she’s good, she at least will occasionally get a piece of fresh bread with her stew. It’s not much, but when she has nothing, it is _ everything _. 

She misses her horse. She wonders what happened to Cookie, since she has been here. Has he been fed, brushed, loved? Is he still being taken care of? Does he miss her too? She misses him. Cookie was nice. She liked Cookie. (Despite what some of her siblings thought, Cookie was and is the best pony ever.)

What she misses most, though, (other than her siblings, of course), is a hot, warm bath. She didn’t used to appreciate them that much. But when she now cleans herself with dirty water and an even dirtier rag, it makes her miss when she had ladies in waiting to draw her a nice, hot bath with sweet-smelling oils. And to top it off, there were soft, fluffy towels to dry herself as she exited, too. Those were nice. 

She wants to go home. She wants to go home, and big brother Leo would laugh at her, and call her “Little Licia,” and ruffle her hair under his large, calloused hand. She wants to go home, where it’s safe, and warm, and rats don’t nibble at her toes at night. 

She wants to go home, but technically she already is home. 

_Enbarr._

How can you go home, if you have no home left to go to? 

She hasn’t seen her siblings in a while, but she can hear their screams, sometimes. 

Are those screams theirs? Or her own? 

She doesn’t know anymore. She doesn’t know, doesn’t know, doesn’t know. 

Her name is Adalicia von Hresvelg.

_Failure._

She is ten years old. 

_Stupid child._

Is she? Has it been days, months, years?

_Try again. Use the same technique we used on the other one. We are so close. _

And she just wants this to stop.

* * *

She gets to see big brother Leo, again, briefly, as they lead her down the hallways. She wishes she doesn’t. 

He is lean, so skinny, like a starved man, his breaths shallow and barely there. She watches as he is carried down the hall past her. He mumbles indecipherable gibberish. 

He is nothing like the man he used to be, muscular and full of life, always willing to humour her in her childish games and give her gifts. 

She wants to reach for his hand, but forces herself not to. She knows the rules. Do not stray from the path, or you will be punished. Do as you are told, or you will be punished. 

_Obey._

“Do not resist,” they say, as fire runs through her veins. 

_Obey._

“Do not resist,” they say, as they lead her to that _ stupid _ table.

_Obey. _

“Do not resist,” they say, as she follows behind, feet aching, muscles burning, cuts stinging.

Everything hurts. It hurts so, so much all the time.

She is running out of time, the cuts won’t heal, and she wants to cry, wants to scream, she just wants to be done.

She wants to go home, and Alcuin will hug her as she cries, Karolina will laugh at “little Lici,” and they’ll be a big, happy, family again. Lorelei will sigh at her antics when she tugs her along to “go see the horsies!” and Imelda and Griselda will laugh as they watch. 

She hugs herself, claws at her arms until the scabs come off and she _ bleeds _, and the blood is so, so warm.

She cannot feel it anymore. It drips down, drop by drop, onto the filthy, bloodstained floor, and she no longer has the energy to make it stop.

When the infection finally settles in, it surprises nobody. 

But she knows that her time here is limited.

They are already frustrated with her, for things she does not understand.

Crests, crests, they are always muttering about crests.

Procedure after procedure, try after try, and still they are not pleased with the results.

They never are. 

“Why won’t the second one stick?” they say.

“Only one crest,” they say. “The second isn’t sticking like the other one’s. Perhaps we need to adjust our methods.”

Is one not good enough? 

Is _ she _not good enough? 

There is fire in her veins, a tempest of power that is raging out of control. It is a raging storm on the ocean, and she is but a mere sailor being beaten down by wave after wave relentlessly crashing down.

Everything is so, so blurry, and she has no energy anymore to get to her feet when they come from her.

The door opens with a sickening screech, and she is not to her feet immediately. She can’t, she can’t. 

She tries so hard, but her head is spinning, and her body refuses to listen. 

“Get up,” they say.

She does not move. She cannot move.

Her skin is on fire, her blood is ice, her knees weak, body brittle.

One of them kicks her. 

“I said get up,” they repeat.

She tries, she tries so hard. 

_Move, damn you, move!_

Her fingers twitch. 

They drag her into a room that is bright, so, so bright, and she can barely see, her eyes are hurting and she can’t even open one of them. She just wants to sleep.

She is so tired, her head is throbbing, and she hurts. She hurts, she hurts, she hurts, she is filthy, disgusting, her hair a matted mess, color indistinguishable from the dirt and blood that cakes it.

_Is her hair still brown? Or is it red?_

She squints at the blurry figure that approaches.

“You lost another one?” they say, as a long, slender hand grasps her chin, moving it up to inspect her face. 

Their face is blurry, and she doesn’t recognize it, but that voice— she _ knows _ that voice.

_Uncle _.

_Uncle, why? Why, why, why? Why?_

** _W h y ?_ **

He’s not supposed to be here, surely she must be hallucinating. That’s not Uncle. Uncle gives her tea, and dolls, and smiles at her and tells her that she’s going to be a “special young lady” when she grows up. 

“No,” replies one of the masks, one in an endless sea. “But it looks like she’ll be getting there soon.”

Uncle—no, not Uncle, that can’t be uncle it _ cAn’ _ ** _T b_ ** _ e _— turns towards the mask and frowns. “You said that she was able to tolerate the procedure.”

The mask shrugs. “She was. But none of them after the first stuck. Her condition has been deteriorating since.”

Not-Uncle hums. “You used the same technique as the success?”

_ Uncle, what do you mean? I’m right here. I’m right here, I’m “your special young lady.” _

_ Please, Uncle. _

_ P l _ ** _E a _ ** _ s _ ** _e ._ **

She tries to speak, but all that comes out is a wheeze. 

Not-Uncle glances back towards her briefly, before returning his gaze to the masks.

“How much time do you think she has left?” he says.

_He cares, see? He loves you. He wants you to be okay. It must be Uncle, he’s here to save you, to take you home. Everything is going to be okay again. _

“At the rate she’s deteriorating, not long,” they frown. “It seems those without crests simply can’t tolerate it as well as those with it. Not to mention the second one didn’t stick.”

“Is she salvageable?” says not Uncle. 

Something is said that she cannot make out, her vision is so blurry now, and her eyes cannot stay open, she is so, so tired.

“Get rid of her then. Dump her with the others.” Not-Uncle flippantly waves his hand, a blob of beige in a sea of red and black, and the hands under her arms lift her up, and she is going, going, going.

She closes her eyes, just for a little while. 

* * *

She wakes up to the smell of sea air. It is dark, so dark, and she cannot see anything, and her head is still spinning. Her eye feels like it is on fire, and she cannot open it with the crust lining the outside. 

She feels the rough wood underneath her fingers, on her back, and she cannot move, the rock of the waves beneath the boat— yes, she thinks it is a boat, it must be—and hears the cries of seagulls. 

Big brother Alcuin was going to be a sailor. He was going to lead the Imperial Navy, and take her sailing on his battleship, and- 

She hurts.

She cannot think, her head is so heavy, and her arms still can barely move. She manages to clench her hand, which catches the attention of one of the masks. 

“You think she’s still got any fight left in her?” they say. “Seems like a waste to dump her while she’s still living. She made it longer than the others.”

“She made it longer than the others, but if she does have any fight left, she won’t for much longer. You saw what happens to all of them when the deterioration starts.” 

There is a brief pause.

“Besides, we have our orders.”

_Dump her with the others. _

“But-” the other mask starts, before he is cut off. 

“Just shut up and hurry up with your rowing. We need to dump the body and get back soon.” 

_I’m not a body, I’m a person. _

_I’m a person._

_ I _ ** _’m A _ ** _ Pe _ ** _Rs_ ** _ o _ ** _n! _ **

** _I _ ** _ a _ ** _M _ ** _ A l _ ** _I _ ** _ v _ ** _ e !_ **

The splashing of the oars against the water grows faster and faster, until it stops, and they float along the waves. 

Rough hands pick her up— up, up, up— and she cannot breathe. They drop her, and she is falling, falling fast, and the wind scratches at her open wounds, until she lands in the ocean with a crash.

It burns, burns so bad, the salt digging into her cuts like thousands of knives. Her eye, which had once burned like a fire, was now a hot raging inferno, and now her other eye hurts to match it. 

Adalicia hears the splashing of the oars against the water as they row away, and she floats there, face up, stinging head to toe.

She floats there, burning, burning, burning, alone. 

The waves lap over her face, and she chokes on the water, futilely reaching for something, anything, to grasp onto. 

Her arm burns, her face burns, her _ blood _ burns, and her hand reaches and reaches until finally, it touches something.

Wood. 

A large piece of driftwood, floating aimlessly along the waves, right into her waiting arms. A miracle, one might say, if she believed in gods. 

But when she prayed, no gods saved her. When she prayed, no gods brought Leopold back. When she prayed, no gods saved Hilbert. When she prayed, they did not protect Gretchen, Alcuin, Imelda, Griselda, Lorelei, Jaeger, Bernard, or Karolina. They did not protect her, and they probably did not protect Edelgard either. 

She prayed and she prayed, and the gods did not hear her prayers.

Eventually, she simply stopped praying at all.

She pulls her arm over the driftwood, and it takes about every shred of energy she has left. She wheezes as she finally pulls herself over it, and rests her head on her arms. 

She is so, so tired.

She can rest, for just a little while, surely.

Just for a while. 

Surely, the gods will at least grant her that much. 

* * *

**III- Healing: **Out of the darkness and back into the light, Adalicia now has to recover. 

* * *

“Oi, pa’!” yells Tristan, as he pulls up to the dock. “You won’t believe what I caught today!”

Tristan tosses the rope over to his father, who is waiting at the ready to catch it. Wade catches the rope and starts to tie the boat up. 

“Oh? What’d ya catch, kid?” Wade raises a brow. “Can’t top the monster I caught last week, can it?”

Tristan starts to unload his catch, throwing the nets over to Wade, who catches them and puts them neatly away in his bucket. 

Tristan grabs his bucket of fish, and sets them on the side. “Nah, I got a lotta small ones, though. But what really made my mornin’ real interestin’ was somethin I’m gonna need some help liftin’ outta tha’ boat.”

“Oh, really?” says Wade, as he glances over the side of the boat. “Oh, shit, Tristan, that ain’t no fish. That’s a kid.”

Tristan grins. “Yer’ damn right that ain’t no fish. Found er’ hangin onto a piece of driftwood by the nets.”

Wade groans. “She don’t look too good, kid, let’s get her to yer ma’.”

Tristan nods. “I was thinkin’ the same thing. Would ya’ help me lift her, pa?” 

“O’course I will,” says Wade. He turns and calls over to one of the other fisherman at the dock. “Oi, Ronald!”

He recieves a wave in response. 

“Oi, Wade!” calls Ronald. “Good haul today?”

Wade shrugs. “Got a bit more than we bargained for this mornin’! If I give ya’ a cut of our haul, would ya’ mind bringing it home for me? Gotta help get this kid ta’ Maria!”

“O’course I will!” says Ronald. “I got a good haul this mornin’ too, so I don’t need none o’ yours. Your place is on my way home anyhow!”

“You’re the best, Ronald!” Calls Wade, as he moves to help Tristan lift the girl out of the boat. 

“You’d do the same for me, my friend! It’s nothing!”

Wade nods. “You bet yer’ ass I would! Tell Alice I say hi, will ya’?”

Ronald finishes tying up his boat. “Will do! Same to you and Maria!”

* * *

Adalicia wakes slowly. She is warm, and dry, and on something far softer than a piece of driftwood. (And far drier, too.) She can hardly believe her luck. She must have died, and gone to heaven. Is this heaven? 

She hears a laugh. “Nah, kid. This ain’t heaven.” 

Ah, did she say that out loud?

She opens her eyes, squinting up into the bright sunlight that filters in through the window. It is so bright it hurts, so she shuts her eyes again. 

“Where…?” she mumbles. She is still very dizzy and achy, but the sting of her cuts and wounds has died down to a tolerable level. It is now more of a constant, dull ache than a raging inferno, and she can’t help but feel relieved. But it is still far too bright

“Yer’ in Dunmore, kid. Near Fodlan’s Fangs.” Says the… woman? She thinks it is a woman, at least. “My son found ya’ near his nets yesterday mornin’.”

She hears the shuffling of pots and pans before the woman continues. 

“You should be right glad that Tristan found ya’ when he did.” She hears footsteps approach. “You were in horrid shape, darlin’. Had he n’ Wade not gotten ya’ to me when they did, ya’ probably woulda died, If I’m bein’ perfectly honest.” 

The bed shifts as the woman sits down next to her, and a bottle is placed to her lips. 

“Drink.” 

The concoction of herbs that is poured into her mouth is absolutely _ foul _. It is bitter, and smelly, but she has no energy to spit it out. She’s still so tired, and just resigns to her fate and swallows it down while doing her best to ignore the flavor. 

“Damn, she drank that whole thing without even’ flinchin’. I’m impressed,” says another voice, a… boy? It sounds like a boy. “She musta’ really been in bad shape if she don’t even bat an eye at that nasty shit.”

She hears a smack. 

“Ma! That hurt!”

“Watch your language. Injured or nah, that is a _ child _ . You know I taught you better than ta’ curse ‘round children.” The woman huffs. “That '_ nasty crap’ _ is medicine, and it’s thanks to said ‘_ nasty crap’ _ and some good ol’ fashioned faith magic she’s alive. She’d be _ stupid _ not to drink it.” 

Her head is throbbing, and she is still so, so tired. So she goes back to resting, just for a bit. The sound of the people’s bickering slowly turns into white noise, until she can no longer hear it as she fades back into the abyss of sleep. 

* * *

The next time Adalicia wakes up, she is actually able to open her eyes. It is when she does, that she knows immediately that something is wrong. Her field of vision is significantly narrower than it was before, and the pain in her right eye is gone. 

She tries to push herself up, but hisses as pain shoots through her arms.

This catches the attention of the woman who is across the room at the fire, cooking in a pot. 

The woman turns, and when she sees that Adalicia is awake, gives her a smile. 

“Ah, you’re awake,” she says. “Hopefully for longer, this time, yes?”

“My eye…” she says. “What happened to it?” 

The woman stirs whatever is in the pot a bit before putting the lid on it and walking over towards Adalicia. 

“We found ya’ half dead. Yer’ eye was so infected, that if I hadn’t gotten rid of it, ya woulda’ died,” she says. “The infection woulda’ got to yer’ brain.” She taps her head for effect. 

The woman’s hand starts to glow with the cool mint of faith magic, and Adalicia feels her aches and pains numb as the woman runs it over her. “It’s a shame, but hey, yer’ alive, aintcha?” 

The woman has a point. She’s honestly surprised she’s not dead. She thought she was going to die. She really did. 

“Yes,” agrees Adalicia. “I am alive. Thank you.” 

“It was nothin’, kid.” says the woman. “Now, darlin’, ya mind tellin me how ya’ ended up driftin on a piece o’ wood in that kinda shape? You shipwrecked?” 

Adalicia wants to answer, but she cannot force the words out of her mouth. There is a brief pause, the only noise the crackle of the fire and the rhythmic _ chop chop chop _ of the woman cutting vegetables.

The woman hums. “Ya don’ gotta tell me, that’s fine. You tell us when you’re good n’ ready, honey.” 

She sighs in relief. 

“Why did you help me?” says Adalicia. “I don’t have any money.” 

_Not anymore._

“I don’t have anything to repay you,” she repeats.

The woman hums. “Now, don’t you worry about that. We can figure that all out later, I’m sure the boys can find somethin’ you can help out with once you feel better. Us Dunmore folk aint the typa’ people to just leave a kid to die.” 

She scoffs, as if offended by the very idea of doing such a thing. 

“Not like them big city folk. Honestly, the way them city folk act is pathetic.”

The woman lifts the lid of the pot and drops whatever vegetable she was chopping into it. 

“Besides, ya’ gave me a good excuse to practice a bit o’ faith magic. I haven’t had much practice lately,” she says. “Was gettin’ a bit rusty.” 

Adalicia gapes, and the woman laughs. 

“Close yer’ mouth,” says the woman. “You’ll catch flies like that.” 

Adalicia closes her mouth, before opening it to respond, and closing it again when she cannot find the words she is looking for. 

“I have no way to express how grateful I am to you and your family, miss…” Adalicia trails off, waiting for an answer. 

“Ya’ can call me Maria,” says the woman. “And the one ya’ should be really thankin’ is my son, Tristan. He was the one who found ya’, after all.”

Maria chuckles a bit, before turning back towards Adalicia.

“And you? What can I call ya, kid? What’s your name?”

_I am Adalicia von Hresvelg._

_I am ten years old, and I am a dead girl walking._

_Princess Adalicia von Hresvelg is dead. She died back in Enbarr, and she rots in the ocean. _

“Licia,” she responds. “My name is Licia.”

_Adalicia von Hresvelg is dead, but Licia the shipwrecked orphan is not. _

She expects Maria to ask about her lack of last name, and has prepared a suitable lie, but she doesn’t.

“You like fish, miss Licia?” says Maria, “I sure hope so, because otherwise ya’ might starve round here.”

“Yes,” she replies. “I love fish. Thank you.”

She doesn’t, but she’s not going to say no to a hot meal. 

A bowl of steaming hot stew is shoved into her hands.

“Good. Eat up. That bowl had better be clean by the time I come back.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IV - Waves, V - Claws, VI - Clouds.

**IV - Waves: **Adalicia takes to fishing like a wyvern to the skies. 

* * *

Adalicia now understands big brother Alcuin’s fascination with boats, the sea, and everything that comes with it. 

The sea is a tempermental mistress, constantly changing, waves ever flowing back and forth. As the currents change, the fish come and go, traveling back and forth across the continent, moving with the seasons. The ocean takes, and it gives. 

It’s been almost a year now, since she ended up in Dunmore. There isn’t much news coming to and fro here. It is relatively isolated, aside from the occasional merchant who comes to purchase the goods that come in through the port. 

She’s become a good fisherman, according to Tristan. She knows how to tend to the boat, and to care for the nets. (You need to be careful to fold them properly so they do not tear.) Some fish you net, others you bait. 

She’s learned, but it took her a while, though. When she first started throwing the bait net, she could hardly get it to open up, and it would sink to the bottom empty as Wade and Tristan would chuckle. 

“Don’t worry,” they said. “You’ll get there, everyone struggles when they’re first startin’ out. Bait nets are a fickle thing, they are.” 

She now knows all of the local fish breeds in the area, where they hide, and what time of year they are here. 

In the summer, the fish come to spawn, and it is a feast. The bears come down from the mountains to feast on the salmon making their way upriver, and the wyverns fly down to take part in the sea’s bounty. 

She’s always been fascinated with wyverns. Wyverns are strong, muscular creatures, bred by nature for the rough, ragged peaks of the mountains. They’re far different from ponies. Soft fur is replaced by tough scales, warm noses by jagged toothed-snouts, prey by predators. But she’s enamored with them all the same. 

Big brother Bernard used to have a wyvern. His name was Fang, and he was a big, large, intimidating creature. He could tear through bones and flesh like a knife through butter, but when he was with Bernard, he was tamer than a kitten. It’s a fascinating thing, how wyverns are. They are easily strong enough to tear through several men, and yet they are willing to bond with people. 

As she sits with Tristan and throws out the nets, she watches one of the wyverns fly down into the water and snatch a fish with its sharp talons. Some might consider it a brutal sight, watching a wyvern tear into the guts of a fish on the shore, but Adalicia finds it strangely mesmerizing. 

Tristan must have noticed her staring, as he looks over too.

“Judgin’ by the way the wyverns are feasting this mornin’ we’re gonna have a pretty good haul today, I reckon,” he says. “They’re cool critters, ain’t they?”

“Yeah,” she nods. The net sinks towards the bottom, and she pulls it back up wriggling with bait fish. “They are.”

Tristan takes a moment to think. “You ever seen one of em’ up close before?”

She pauses.

_Yes, my brother once took me riding on his._

“No,” she replies. “I haven’t.”

_Wyverns were for the rich and for the soldiers._

_Licia is neither. _

_Not anymore._

“They’re a real sight, aint they?” he says with a low whistle. “Them wild ones are a whole lot prettier than the ones they breed for the rich folk.”

She agrees. Where the battle bred ones are all dark colored, cobalts and browns, the wild ones are bright. They are bright blues, greens, and purples, shimmering in the sunlight. It makes sense, though. The brighter the colors, the more attractive they are to other wyverns.

“Y’know,” says Tristan, “I once heard a rumour that them wild wyverns are bigger n’ stronger than the bred ones. Y’think it’s true?”

Adalicia glances back over towards the wyvern sitting by the oyster bed, who is now just finishing its meal, tossing the head of the fish up into the air and swallowing it whole. It’s huge. 

Bernard’s wyvern was big, yes, but this thing, this thing is _ massive _. War wyverns were bred for speed, but the wild wyverns? They are all brawn. 

“Maybe,” she says, dumping the bait fish into the bait basket, picking up a few that fall into the bottom of the boat. 

She watches the wyvern take off and fly back over to dive in for another fish. She takes a moment to think.

“Say, Tristan?” says Adalicia. “How many fish do you think one of those things can catch in an hour?”

He hums, as he starts to bait some of the crab traps with scraps of fish guts from yesterday’s catch. 

“Probably a lot, I’d reckon,” he says. “They don’t gotta use bait to catch the big ones.”

Fishing is therapeutic, yes, but it doesn’t earn a lot. You are able to sustain yourself, and if you’re good enough to consistently catch large ones, you might be good enough to make a little extra profit on the side.

But with one of _ those _…

She has a horrible, terrible idea. 

“Hey, Tristan,” she says. “You know how I love to read, right?”

“Yeah?” 

“Well, I read this book about wyverns, you see…” she trails off.

_She didn’t, but her brother made sure she knew everything there was to know about them before even being allowed to step foot near one._

Tristan glances up at her curiously.

“Well, did you know that wyverns raised from the egg are extremely loyal to their handlers?” She points over to the wyvern. “Those guys nest up in the Fangs, right?”

Tristan takes a moment to process the question. 

“Licia, if yer’ sayin what I think yer’ sayin… yer’ crazy. Ma’ will kill ya, if those things don’t kill ya first.” He groans. “And then she’ll kill me fer’ not talkin ya’ out of this.”

She looks at the Tristan, then at the wyvern, then back at Tristan again.

“Can you _ imagine _ the haul we could get with one of those bad boys on our side?” she says. 

“Again, they’ll kill ya’,” repeats Tristan. “Enough egg hunters have gone up there and not returned for me to know that, and they were fully grown men, mind you. The wyverns ain’t exactly happy ‘bout people takin’ their eggs.” 

She simply looks at him and grins.

“Not if you know the right ones to look for. Find one that’s the wrong color from the rest of the clutch, and the mom will ditch it.” She shrugs. “One man’s trash, another’s treasure. Or in this case, one wyvern’s trash, a girl’s treasure.”

“Okay, but even _ gettin’ _to where they nest is a dangerous journey, Licia,” he says. “Ain’t no way ma’ will let ya’ go do that. Or pa’, or me. It’s too dangerous.”

She simply glances at him again.

“I’m not gonna change yer’ mind, am I.” He says with a groan. “Tell ya’ what, I’ll help ya’ to convince Ma’ if ya’ give it another year or two before ya go.”

He points towards her arms and flexes his own, drawing attention to his biceps.

“Yer’ gonna have to build up yer’ strength and learn to use a sword or somethin’ first before I even let ya’ take one step towards the Fangs,” he says. “If ya’ get into a scrape, you’re gonna need to be able to stab one of them lizards and get the hell outta’ there. We didn’t take ya in just to let ya’ go out and get yourself killed. Give it two years, and when you can beat me in a fight, then we’ll talk about it.”

She frowns. “One year.”

He doesn’t budge. “Two years.”

“If I can beat you in a fight after one year, you’ll let me.” She repeats. 

He scoffs. “Ain’t no way that’ll ever happen. Two years and that’s final. You won’t even have a chance til’ then, squirt.” 

He puts a hand on her head and musses up her hair.

“Even if I manage to beat you in one year, you won’t let me go?” she asks, trying once again to get him to cave.

“No, I won’t let ya’ go,” he repeats. “And that’s final.”

Adalicia shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

* * *

When they get home later that evening, and gather around the dinner table (which she now has a reserved spot at), Tristan brings up the subject of wyverns.

“Little miss Licia is interested in them wyverns,” he says. 

Wade sighs. 

“I suppose it was inevitable,” he says with a chuckle. “For a lil’ thing, you’ve got the courage of five men. You’re such a thrillseeker, kid. Yer’ always worryin’ Maria sick.”

Maria makes her way into the room holding a pot of stew, and sets it down on the table. 

“You bet I worry,” she says. “If I left her alone, she’d run off and do somethin’ stupid.”

“Like run off and try to steal a wyvern egg?” says Tristan. 

Maria nods. “Exactly like that.” 

Adalicia groans. “I never said I was going to.” 

At the deadpan stare she receives from Tristan, she clarifies. “I implied it, that’s all.”

* * *

**V - Claws:** Adalicia prepares to go through with her terrible, awful idea.

* * *

Adalicia’s thirteenth birthday comes and passes, and before she knows it, it’s summer again, and the day for her battle with Tristan arrives.

The odds don’t look good that she’ll win. He’s older than she is, and far taller to boot. She is pretty sure that it’s highly unlikely she’ll win. In fact, she’s pretty sure Tristan made the bet with that in mind.

She wakes up extra early, which, considering her usual dawn wake up time, is practically in the middle of the night. She has already been setting aside all the supplies she’d need for a while now.

She has her sword, which she did some extra work for the other fisherman and some odd jobs to be able to afford. She has a pouch of dried salmon, which she has been sneaking small pieces of out from her meals. She has her map, her guide to the various twists and turns of the paths that scale Fodlan’s Fangs. She has a dagger, a pair of extra clothes, and a bag to carry everything in, including the egg she plans to take. She has everything she’ll need.

Adalicia feels a bit bad for doing this, as Tristan, Wade, and Maria have treated her so well and have all visibly expressed their disapproval of her even wanting to do this in the first place. 

But she finally has the strength, the muscle mass, the ability to do whatever she could only dream of when she was back in that hell under the dark. And she’d be damned if she doesn’t take the opportunity when she has it.

She glances at the clock. She has two hours until the rest of the family wakes up. She’s right on schedule.

She gets changed into her traveling gear, grabbing an extra coat and some gloves for when she gets up higher and the air gains a chill.

Adalicia is ready to leave. And Tristan, who is still likely fast asleep, has no idea that she had no intention of fighting a battle she cannot win. 

She’s waited two years for this, two long years, and she’d be damned if she let some stupid bet get in the way. 

She’s going to make big brother Bernard proud.

He always did say that she’d make a great wyvern rider, after all. 

_You have a way with animals, Lici. Just give it some time and I’ll see if I can pull some strings to get you flying lessons. _

She sneaks down the stairs on her tippy toes, making her way quietly step by step to the door.

She makes it down without a hitch, which is somewhat of a miracle, as the third and fifth stairs always seem to screech and creak at the most inconvenient times. That’s why she was careful to avoid them, this time. 

Some part of her deep down knows that this is a terrible idea, but a bigger part tells her to do it anyways.

* * *

The wyverns’ nests are far up in the crags of the mountains, nestled far away from the beaten dirt and gravel paths used by the miners and travelers. If you aren’t careful, you could easily trip and fall to your death.

And then there’s obviously the bigger danger of angry wyverns. They aren’t exactly pleased when people trespass on their turf, and even less so if someone tries to steal an egg. 

She hopes with everything she has that there’s a white wyvern egg, as that will make her job so much easier. The wyverns will be far less angry at her if she steals an egg they have chosen to ditch, instead of stealing an egg one of their more heavily protected clutches. 

Unfortunately, she isn’t that lucky. She watches and waits as various wyverns leave their nests, and there are no white eggs ditched on the floor below.

If she has any luck left, she might be able to find one of them asleep. Many of them simply choose to sleep on the job, as no sane creature would walk into a wyvern’s cave while they are there, after all. Unfortunately for them, humans aren’t well known for making smart decisions. (Her included.) 

If she’s unlucky, though, and has to steal one while they are all awake, it makes things considerably harder. The various wyverns all take turns guarding them, so she will need to work fast. There’s about a two minute window in between when one wyvern leaves and the next wyvern takes its shift on watching the eggs. This means that she would have roughly two minutes to climb up to the small cave, grab an egg, and get the hell out of sight before the pissed off wyverns realize she grabbed one of their eggs.

Sadly, it seems her luck is just about as good as before and none of them are asleep. But it seems to turn around quickly enough considering the fact that she manages to sneak in and out within the two minute window, egg in hand. It is large, and purple, and it shines in the sunlight. 

She did it. She actually did it. She got a wyvern egg. Stole it from right under their noses, too. Her heart is racing in her chest, and she quickly stuffs the egg safely in her bag, out of sight. On the off chance she is spotted by one of the wyverns, who are by now, likely alarmed and searching the area for an egg thief, it’s better that it is hidden away. As she makes her way down the mountain path, and can’t help but feel proud of herself. 

Was it dangerous? Yes, definitely. It’s not even a question, honestly. Had she been caught, the wyverns would have torn her to shreds without a second thought.

Was it stupid? Also yes. 

But was it worth it? Definitely. 

When she deems that she is far enough away to rest, she sits down takes the egg back out of her bag.

_Big brother Bernard, are you proud of me?_

_You always did say that I'd make a great wyvern rider._

The egg is heavy in her hands. 

* * *

Barney is a rambunctious wyvern from the day that he hatches. He is purple, bright, amethyst purple, with scales that shine in the sunlight like the gems they resemble.

He is currently very small, only about the size of a large cat. But his appetite does not match his size. Not one bit. Barney eats about as many fish in a day as a whole family does.

Had Adalicia not been prepared, with a stash of dried fish, he would have likely eaten them out of house and home by now. She now understands why the wyverns breed in the summer during the fish rush. The babies eat, and they eat a _ lot _.

The adults seem to have a slower metabolism once they are fully grown. It makes sense that the young ones eat so much, though. It must take a lot of energy to be able to grow from the size of a cat to as big as a horse. Considering Barney’s heritage, he’s likely to be even bigger.

Bernard’s wyvern was large, yes, but Barney’s parents were downright massive. You simply cannot match the size of a wild wyvern. 

She spends a lot of her extra time working with Barney. He is loyal, oh so loyal, always following her around like she is the sun, the moon, and the stars all in one.

“You got a scaly little shadow there, Lici,” says Tristan, as they walk to the docks one morning. 

“I know,” she replies. 

Barney follows at her heels, and when she stops abruptly, he runs face first into the back of her legs with a small squeal. 

She laughs. “A little eager, huh buddy?” 

She leans down, and he hops onto her shoulder, using small claws to climb his way up her tunic.

Barney croons as she scratches under his chin. 

“It’s hard to believe that he’s gonna get as big as them’ ones that come down from the mountains,” says Tristan. “He’s all small. And cute. It’s weird, y’know?”

Adalicia hums. “Give it time, and he will not be small anymore.”

She smiles. “But he’ll still _ definitely _ be cute.” 

Tristan frowns, as he loads some of the gear onto the boat. “I wouldn’t exactly call a horse-sized lizard _ cute _, Licia.”

She frowns. “Look at him!” She grabs a small bait fish from yesterday’s stash, now smelly and long past its prime. 

Barney snatches it out of her hand, swallowing it eagerly. He gives a toothy grin, face covered in fish guts and scales.

“See? He’s cute,” she says.

“He’s covered in fish guts,” protests Tristan. “That’s anything _ but _ cute.”

She shrugs, and Barney screeches in disapproval as his perch in her shoulder is disturbed.

Adalicia chuckles. “Sorry, buddy. Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Y’know,” says Tristan, “if ya keep spoilin’ im’ rotten like that he’s gonna grow up into a grade-A brat.”

“No he won’t,” she says. “He’s a big sweetie pie, aren’t you, baby boy.”

She croons at Barney, scratching under his chin. He makes a rumbling sound, and she smiles. 

“See?” she says. “Cute.”

Tristan frowns. “I just saw that thing eat a day old fish without flinchin’. That just ain’t right.”

Adalicia reaches for another piece of fish. “Please. I’ve seen you eat far worse.”

Tristan groans. “That was _ one time, _ Licia. One time. It was a bet, okay?” 

He waves his hand. “Can’t you let it go? Please?” 

She frowns, rubbing her chin a bit as she fakes thinking it over. “No.”

Tristan sighs, and she laughs, and Barney startles from his perch on her shoulder, climbing up onto the top of her head like a big, scaly hat.

They laugh, and she smiles.

Life is good.

* * *

Barney keeps on eating and keeps on growing. It’s been a year since he hatched, and he’s now the size of a large dog.

He’s become much more confident in his flying abilities, often gliding along beside them as they sail out to a fishing spot. 

It will probably be another year or two until he’s fully grown. He’s already become quite the help, snatching up fish out of the water like he was born and bred to. He flies ahead, spotting large schools, before coming back, rocking the boat a little as he lands. He’s no longer small enough to fit on Adalicia’s shoulder, but still loves to get scratches under his chin. 

“You find anything good, Bar?” She says, giving him a kiss on his nose. 

Barney screeches a little, and his tail wags behind him in the air. He’s excited. It means that he likely found something nice.

He launches himself back up into the air, slowly flying off in the direction of the school of fish he’s likely found for them.

She’ll have to start saving for a saddle, soon. They’re extremely pricey, and if she wants to get one custom fitted, it’ll be even moreso. She’ll likely be able to work out a loyalty discount with one of the merchants, but even still, it will be costly. Leather doesn’t come cheap, and if she wants the saddle to last, it’s going to require the good stuff.

She doesn’t feel comfortable asking Wade’s family for extra cash. They’ve already done so much for her, with saving her life, taking her in, everything, really. Adalicia tries her best, but sometimes she wonders whether she is really doing enough to repay them for their kindness. They’ve done so much for her, and what has she done? Eat their food, take up space in their home? She tries her best to help, but asking them for cash would just be pushing it too far.

Barney, despite his large appetite, has been nothing but helpful so far. Their daily catch has increased by a large margin with his assistance. And as he gets bigger and bigger, he’ll only be more helpful.

“I wonder what he found fer’ us today,” says Tristan. “Ya’ think he found somethin’ real good? He seemed real excited.”

She shrugs. “I’d assume it’s something nice. Probably a nice big school. He only gets this excited if he finds something good.” 

Tristan grins. “Man, if it’s anything like the motherload he led us to yesterday…” he lets out a low whistle. “We’ll be pretty set for a while.”

Adalicia raises an eyebrow. “He’ll eat through a lot of it.” 

Tristan’s grin falls slightly. “I guess that’s true. I don’t know where he puts it all. How does he eat so much?”

“I don’t know, how do _ you _ eat so much, Tristan?” she replies. “Where do _ you _put it all?”

He pauses, and then chuckles. “You got a fair point there. I’ll give ya’ that one.”

* * *

**VI- Clouds:** Barney is finally large enough to ride, and he and Adalicia learn to fly as a team.

* * *

She is almost fifteen by the time Barney is full grown and big enough to ride. She has to wait for the merchants to come back with the saddle she ordered, though. After a long few years of saving, she finally has enough to buy one. It’s just in time, too, as Barney is now big enough to easily carry her weight. He’s huge, far bigger than most of the bred wyverns, 

Adalicia looks at her reflection on the water. 

She doesn’t recognize herself anymore. She looks so different from the tiny girl she used to be. She’s still not as tall as she’d like to be. She probably won’t ever be, despite how much she doesn’t want to admit it. There’s some things you just never _ fully _ recover from, and being half-starved is one of them. She is small. She is small, but she is no longer a tiny child trailing behind in her older sibling’s shadows. 

The scars that mar her chin and the ones that peek out from below her eyepatch make her look like a warrior. She is no warrior. 

Adalicia can fight, yes. There isn’t a question about that. Her swordplay has only improved since she’s started putting more work into it. Plus, with Barney now on her side, she has the advantage of having a loyal, giant, fanged companion that would likely fight to his death for her. (She hopes it will never come to that.)

She can fight, but she doesn't enjoy fighting. Not at all. Sometimes, the very sight of blood makes her want to hurl. She’s used to it, by now, as she cuts up fish. There’s no shortage of blood and guts everywhere when you have to be careful to use every part of the animal. Barney is always happy to help clean up, too, which helps. 

Animal blood doesn’t bother her as much, but _ her own, _on the other hand…When she accidentally slices her hand open one morning with the fish knife, she can’t help but cringe.

The memories come rushing back in a wave, a ruthless tsunami, and she wants to cry. It’s dark, so dark. She hates the dark, hates the things that come with it, hates the memories that remain trapped there. 

If there is no light, she closes her eyes, and she is back. The rats skitter over her feet, nibbling at her fingers and toes. She is cold, and everything hurts. She is alone, so, so alone. 

She is brought back to reality when Barney rests his chin upon her head, letting out a huff of warm air that sends a few strands of it flying.

She moves, turning towards and holds her hands out in front of her, and he places his snout in her palms. Her open cut stings, but she ignores it. 

His scales are warm from lounging in the sunlight, and it’s nice, calming even, as he simply sits there and lets her hands run over his face.

She breathes. In, out, in out, a steady rhythm. 

“Hey, Bar,” she says. “You’re such a good boy, you know that? I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Stealing a wyvern egg had certainly not been her smartest idea, but she does not regret it for a second. She meant it. She doesn’t know what she’d do without him. He’s a comforting presence, always there at her side, grounding. 

She gets no response, but she doesn’t expect one. Barney simply nudges his head further into her arms.

“Thanks, buddy,” she says. “Love you too.”

* * *

The day that the merchant arrives in town with Barney’s saddle is a joyous one. Everyone is excited to see what new wares the caravan has brought with them this time, but she already knows what is on that cart waiting for her.

She eagerly pays the merchant, and lugs it back home. It’s quite heavy, with it being designed for such a big animal. It has lots of various parts and pieces, but she manages, somehow.

Barney is not quite as immediately thrilled about it. It takes him a little while to get used to wearing the harness that the saddle is attached to, but eventually he gets used to it. 

When she first starts to practice flying with Barney, it is awkward. He’s not exactly used to carrying so much extra weight around. The issue isn’t that he can’t carry her, because he can. He has more than enough muscle mass to do so. The issue is that he needs to adjust his flying habits to having a passenger. 

Adalicia works with him to try to establish a system of commands and maneuvers. She thought she’d pick up flying relatively easily, considering her past experiences, but It’s a lot different than riding a horse. Or a pony, for that matter. When you’re riding a horse, you don’t have to worry so much about up and down unless you’re doing jumping. But flying adds that third dimension to things, meaning you have to worry about going North, South, East, West, up, and down. 

She can say that her thighs have definitely been sore since she’s started practicing. You can hold on with your hands, yes, but your thighs and your legs are your primary mechanism for staying on your wyvern’s back. She can say that she definitely has fallen off a few times, but Barney was always there to catch her, large, muscular talons grabbing around her shoulders and gently placing her back onto the ground.

Cookie was already pre-trained when she got him. Barney, on the other hand, she had to train from scratch. And as much as she loved (_loves? _) Cookie, she just never had the same level of bond with him as she has with Barney.

She knows how to read Barney. She knows what his little croons mean when she scratches him under his chin, what his whines mean when he wants her attention, what it means when his tail wags in the air when he is excited.

After a few months, they finally start to get the hang of things. Instead of being a person on a wyvern, they become a person and a wyvern as one, a team, a pair. Riding through the open air on Barney’s back is freeing. She feels the wind blow her hair back, brush past her face, and she feels _ alive _. 

The sky is bright, and beautiful, and the air is clean. There are no rats in the sky, no people to bother her, and it’s nothing but Barney, herself, and the clouds. It makes her heart race when they dive and loop, but in a good way. It’s not like the way her heart used to race, back then. Instead of it coming with a rush of fear, it comes with a rush of excitement, and smiles and laughs.

The unfamiliar has now become normal. 

They fly over the water, and she guides him to snatch up fish, diving down out of the air. Their daily catch more than doubles, and she finally starts to feel like she is finally starting to repay her debt. 

Nothing can fully repay Tristan, Wade, and Maria for all they’ve done for her, but she knows they appreciate the extra cash. Maria is able to buy herself some new pots and pans, and Wade and Tristan some new equipment. Soon, they might even be able to buy a new boat.

She knows that nothing she does, though, will ever repay her debt. Not fully. After all, how do you put a value on a human life? You can’t. Not really.

_Is she salvageable?_

You can’t put a value on a human life, at least, without losing your own humanity in the process.

_Dump her with the others._

It’s a strange world we live in, when a wyvern can act more human than some people do. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> VII - Winds, VIII - Treason, IX - Ghost town

**VII** -** Winds**: In 1181, the war officially kicks off. Dunmore is mostly unaffected. 

* * *

Dunmore is mostly unaffected by the war. People simply continue as they are, a relatively isolated fishing community. They aren’t anywhere near the front lines, and are far too small a town for most people to be interested in sending spies or anything of that like.

For the most part, everyone simply continues as normal, going about their business, be it fishing, mining, or logging. Everyone simply continues as normal, that is, until when the merchant caravan next comes, they are accompanied by some not-so welcome visitors. 

Army recruiters.

With a war, they need more soldiers. But neither Adalicia nor anyone else here has any interest in putting their lives on the line for a war they do not believe in. Why should they put their lives on the line to fight in a war that does not benefit them?

Winning this war won’t bring glory to Dunmore. It won’t make the ore veins more plentiful in the mines, it won’t make the fish bite more, and it won’t make their lives any better or worse regardless of who wins. That’s just the way things are, in Dunmore. 

The people here do not care for gods, do not care for politics. They are too small of a community to be worth much in the eyes of nobles, with rough, craggy land. The only thing that many higher ups see value in, now, apparently, is the people.

Every army needs people. Sure, to be a knight, you normally have to be rich, to know someone, to have connections. But to be a footsoldier? You simply need to be able-bodied. And Maria does a damn good job with her clinic making sure that everyone is always in tip-top shape. 

The first army recruiter that comes is rather cordial. He promises gold, and glory, and wealth to those who join. 

“Join the Imperial Army!,” he says. “Bring glory to your hometown! Earn a nice paycheck!”

“You there!” He points to Ronald. “You are a fine young man. You would do well in the army. I’m sure you’d be able to get an officer’s position rather quickly if you work hard, why not join?”

Ronald scoffs. “Cuz’ I don’t wanna.” 

He is ignored. Everyone here already has a job, already takes pride in what they do. Who needs glory when you can be the town’s best butcher? Who needs glory, when everyone knows who you are, and you have a whole town of people willing to help you out if you get in a bind? 

The army recruiter is clearly disappointed by the lack of enthusiasm, clearly having expected at least one or two to join up. But he takes his loss with grace, and leaves with the merchant caravan a few days later.

Nobody thinks much of it, until a new recruiter comes. This time, they are flanked by several infantrymen and officers. They have well groomed horses, likely purebreds, ornate uniforms, and medals that decorate them. It’s clear they are noblemen.

This time, there is no question of wanting to join, no promises of grandeur and wealth. This time, it is an order.

“You will join the army,” they say, as they gather everyone in the town square. The nobleman stands and declares “By Imperial Edict 556, I am ordering at least six of your men to enlist. One from each family. Failure to meet this requirement will be considered treason. And the law is not kind to traitors.”

Tristan clenches his fists. Who the hell do they think they are, comin’ inta’ their town like this and actin’ like they own the place? They didn’t build the store, they didn’t help to repair the docks, they didn’t help to open up the mines. What has the Empire ever done for them? The lords don’t give a shit about the common people, so long as they pay their taxes. 

They got some nerve comin’ into _ their _ town, ordering the people to lay down _ their _ lives, and then ramblin’ on about treason. Who is the real traitor here? The miners, loggers, and fishermen simply trying to live their lives? Or the men forcing others to fight in a war they did not start?

He returns home that day grim-faced. Wade, Maria, and Tristan share a grim glance across the table. They all know what that order means. One young man from each family. He is the only son. He will have to go, and with how war goes, he likely won’t be coming back. 

Tristan ain’t stupid. He knows what happens to poor folk who join the army. Everyone does. Poor boys don’t join the army and end up knights. Poor boys join the army and end up on the front lines. They’re the first ones to be ditched when shit goes wrong, the last ones in line to get medical treatment, the lowest priority to be given new equipment. Tristan knows what happens to poor boys who join the army. Poor boys who join the army end up dead. 

But what are they gonna do about it? They can’t do anything. Dunmore is a fishing town. The people here are no nobles, they have no political power, and no army to defend them. 

Maria finishes putting the final touches on the stew, when they hear a thud from outside. Adalicia must be home from her trip to the mountains. 

She walks in the door, and pauses when she notices the grim expressions on everyone’s face. “What’s wrong?” she says, taking off her coat. “Someone die while I was gone or something? I didn’t think I’d be gone long enough for old man Daniel to kick the can. Or did something happen to Ronald’s puppy? What was its name, Nabi or something?”

“Nah,” says Tristan. “Old man Daniel is fine. And lil’ Nabi is doin’ alright too. Thing’s just a bundle of energy. Will make a fine huntin’ dog, that one will.” 

Adalicia frowns. “Well then, what the hell is going on?” 

“The army recruiters came back,” said Tristan. “And they ain’t takin no fer’ an answer no more. Gathered everyone in the town square and said somethin’ about ‘Imperial Edict 556’ and how one man from every family is required to join up.” 

She takes a moment to think. “When are they saying everyone has to leave with them by?” she says.

“Tomorrow mornin’,” says Wade. “They’re expectin’ everyone to just up and say goodbye and trounce off to the army like nothin’s wrong.” 

She frowns. She never was one for politics, but she picked up enough army jargon from her brothers to know that this whole situation doesn’t sound right.

“I don’t think they’re legally allowed to order people to join,” says Adalicia. “I don’t think low level officers like them have the power to do so. Only noblemen are allowed to.”  
  


Maria grabs some bowls from a shelf and starts to serve stew to everyone. “That’s the thing, dear. The guy that came this time was real fancy. Had all them breeches and brooches, and medals. Acted real self-important, too. Couldn't have been anythin’ else but a nobleman.”

She sighs. There goes her legal loophole. 

“How many men did he bring with him? Any of em’ archers?” she says. 

“About four,” replies Wade. “And all of em’ had horses. The fancy ones, too. The ones that ain’t very good for workin. But no, none of em’ were archers. They all seemed to be lancemen, aside from one of em’ with a sword. They all had some of them real fancy lances, all engraved and such. ” 

“What time were you all ordered to meet up tomorrow?” she says. “I have an idea.”

“At dawn,” replies Tristan. “We’re expected to be there at dawn. Why? What’s yer’ idea, Licia?”

“It’s nothing,” she replies. “Just… get the word out tonight that nobody should show up to the meeting point. I’ve got an idea to send those city-slickers running off with their tails between their legs.”

She sends a pointed look towards the door, knowing full well that Barney is sitting patiently on the other side of it.

“What do you think about giving em a little taste of what happens to people that take advantage of Dunmore hospitality?” she says.

Tristan frowns. “Ya’ sure that’s a good idea, Licia? If yer’ thinkin o’ doin what I think yer’ doin, they’ll just send more people after ya chase the first ones off.” 

She smiles. “And if they do, Barney and I will keep chasing them away. They can’t get a whole army through to here,” she says. “The path is too narrow. Besides, I doubt they have many resources to waste on fighting their own people instead of their enemies. If they’re that concerned about people, I’m sure they will find plenty elsewhere.”

Tristan shakes his head. “Licia, what yer’ implyin’ is treason. We’ll all be executed if they find out.” 

She grins, wide, showing far too many teeth. 

_She was Adalicia von Hresvelg._

_She _ ** _is _ ** _ Licia Everett._

_She is sixteen years old, and she is tired of letting people walk all over everything she loves. _

_Dunmore is hers. _

“Then we’ll have to make sure they don’t find out, won’t we?”

After all, If there is nobody left to report the crime, who is there to say that it ever happened in the first place?

“That nobleman,” she says, lifting up her hand and examining her fingernails uninterestedly. “They didn’t happen to drop their name, did they? Was it Arundel, by any chance?"

Tristan shakes his head. “No, why?”

She hums. “No reason.”

* * *

**VIII - Treason**: In which Adalicia commits treason by murdering three members of the Imperial army. Barney gets the fourth.

* * *

Julian von Oche waits with his men at the entrance to town. The conscripts should have been here by now, it is now thirty past six. He glances over at one of his subordinates, Simon.

“You told them when to be here, yes?” he says. 

Simon nods. “Yes, that’s correct.”

Julian raises an eyebrow. “And you informed them of the consequences of not abiding by the Imperial Edict, yes? The whole, ah… _ treason _? And the consequences of it?”

“That’s correct,” replies Simon.

“Then where the _ hell _ are they, Simon?” he says, frustrated. “These _ peasants _ are wasting my time. To even be sent to such a _ backwater _place as this…” He scoffs. “It’s insulting.” 

He closes his eyes, and sighs. 

He opens them when he hears someone scream. 

“What in the _ hell _ is that?” 

A massive, purple, figure descends from the sky, grabs Thomas by the shoulders, and lifts him right up out of his saddle and zooms back up. His horse runs off, spooked. 

Julian struggles to control his own horse, and he raises his arm.

“What are you waiting for, you buffoons?” he says. “Go!”

Thomas falls to the ground with a scream and a disgusting crunch behind them.

They take off running, but like the reaper, the purple monster descends from the sky yet again to seek vengeance. 

He hears another scream, and glances behind over his shoulder to see Simon get snatched up, just as Thomas had. 

He kicks his horse, urging it to go _ faster _ , _ faster, come on, damn you. Stupid animal. _

He does not look back, this time, at the thud of another person hitting the ground. He keeps on going, onward, forward. He reaches for his lance, fumbling with it as he tries to keep one hand around the reins. 

_Don’t complain, Julian. It’s an easy assignment. Just go bully some peasants into joining the army, get your bonus, and go home to a nice bottle of wine and some fine cheese. _

But nobody had said anything about the _ fucking _ ** _wyvern_ **.

Where did a peasant even _ get _ a wyvern? There’s no possible way whoever was on that thing could afford to buy one. And if they were in the army, that would be a whole different problem all together. That’d only be double the treason. 

His horse rears as the wyvern lands directly in his path, blocking the way. 

It’s huge, purple, and muscular. The figure on its back is small. Extremely so. He squints a little, as he tries to regain control of his horse. 

The warrior, the rebellious peasant on the wyvern, is nothing more than a little girl. She couldn’t be more than thirteen or fourteen, by his estimation. 

Truly, a child. 

“You there, child!” he yells. He raises his lance, and the wyvern roars.

“You’ve committed crimes against the Imperial Empire and her people,” he announces. “Do you even know what you’ve done?”

They shrug. “Yeah. Got rid of some assholes.” 

They are nothing but a little girl. A tiny, tiny, little girl. Three of his finest men were slain by a peasant girl. How insulting.

“You treasonous, backwater filth!” Julian raises his lance. “You killed my men, you bitch! The punishment for traitors to the Empire is death!”

He kicks his horse to rush forward, but it does not move. The wyvern spreads its wings, takes off, rider on its back.

The next thing he knows, a sword is in his chest.

He, the great Julian von Oche, third in line for the Oche estate and lands, officer in the Imperial army, had been slain by a peasant child and an overgrown lizard. 

How insulting. 

* * *

When Adalicia comes home and lands in front of the house, she and Barney are covered in blood. 

“What did you _ do _ , Licia?” says Tristan, rubbing a hand down his face. “You told me you were gonna’ chase em off, not…” He waves at her bloodstained clothing. “ _ That. _”

“We’re gonna be in so much trouble fer’ this, ya know,” he says. “Did ya’ seriously think that they’re gonna’ just ignore the fact one of their officers didn’t come home?”

She shrugs. “Probably not.” She starts to take Barney’s saddle off, grabbing the rag and the soap to clean some of the blood off of the leather. 

“Had I only chased them off, they would have simply brought back more forces.” She raises an eyebrow. “Would you have rather been drafted into a war we have no part in?” 

“Well, no.” Tristan slumps. “But who’s to say they won’t send more forces regardless?”

He groans. “Do you realize how serious what you’ve done is? That guy was a _ nobleman _, Licia. They ain’t gonna take his death lightly.”

She starts to wipe Barney down with the rag, and the water that drips down his scales turns pink. 

“Yes,” she replies. “But I don’t appreciate people coming into _ our town, _ bullying _ our people, _ and acting like it’s all fine and dandy just because they’re rich.” 

_No noble should ever act like that. Nobles are supposed to take care of their people, supposed to govern fairly and without bias, supposed to be honorable. _

_“You must take care of your lands and the people that live in them,” says big brother Leopold. “That is our duty, as nobles.”_

_“Is that why you always spend so much time studying?” she replies. “Because you’re gonna be emperor like father one day?”_

_He smiles. “That’s right.” _

She clenches her fist around the rag, squeezing some of the dirt and grime out of it, before dipping it back into the bucket with some soapy water. 

“It’s only fair that someone is there to punish them for their crimes,” she says with a shrug.

“It’s only fair, but It’s not our place,” protests Tristan. “We ain’t no nobles, Licia.”

She glances towards him. 

_You’re not._

“You’re right,” she says. “It’s not our place to question them.” 

She throws the rag into the bucket, and takes off her shoulder plates and sets them down on a table. 

“So go and join the army, then, if it’s not our place to question the nobles. Go and be a good little peasant boy, do exactly what they tell you to, when they tell you to do it. Go on and lick their boots, why don’t you, Tristan?” 

She grabs a new, clean, rag. 

“Why don’t you just throw yourself into the army, bring everyone else with you.” She angrily starts scrubbing at her armor. “Do you know what they do to poor folk in the army, Tristan? _ Do you _?!”

“Of course I do,” he replies, with a sigh. “I’m not _ stupid _. I appreciate what you did for us, but I’m worried about you Licia. Most kids your age shouldn’t be worryin’ about this kinda shit, y’know? Ya’ killed people today, Licia. Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

She closes her eyes, and she can still see the shadows, hear the screams, and-

She sighs. 

“Of course I’m not _ okay with it _ !” she says. “But what choice did I have? They were gonna’ send all of you to the front lines! The _ front lines _, Tristan! That’s a death sentence, and everyone knows it!”

Her heart is racing, and she clenches her fists. 

“I can’t lose any more siblings, Tristan!” she says. “I _ refuse! _ Not while I can _ finally _do something for once!”

For the first time in a long time, she cries.

“I used to have eleven siblings, you know,” she says, as the tears drip down her face. “I’m the only one left.” 

She feels a hand on her shoulder, and Tristan gently moves him to face her, before bringing her in for a hug. 

“No, you’re not,” he says. “Ya’ still got one. I ain’t plannin’ on goin’ nowhere, Licia.”

She pushes her face into his chest, and weeps. 

_You poor, sweet fool. The world does not care what your plans are._

“Neither were they,” she replies. 

He tightens his arms around her, but does not respond with words. He doesn’t have to. The message is clear. 

* * *

They send a few more people, and Adalicia deals with them the same way. She’s always careful to always lead a few of the wild wyverns to clean up the bodies. 

They’ll simply think that the wyverns got them. It’s not an uncommon occurrence, around here, if you don’t know what you’re doing. 

And even if they _ did _ suspect a person was behind their disappearances, she doubts anyone in the army expects a “ _ dirty peasant girl” _to have a wyvern. They never do.

It’s almost funny, how they always think she is some big burly man from some rebel organization in Faerghus, until they see her. 

Nobody expects the rider of the purple behemoth that is Barney to be a girl of only 163cm. They all laugh, and laugh, until Barney grabs them by the shoulders and they become nothing more than a splat on the ground.

They haven’t sent any more people, recently. As much as she wants to believe they simply won’t, she’s sure someone in the higher ups of the army is smart enough to notice a pattern.

If they come to Dunmore, they don’t come back. And sooner or later, they’re going to send someone to investigate that she _ can’t _ fight off.

The people of Dunmore will be fine. They know where to hide, where to go that the people will not follow. The ocean is a tempermental mistress, but treat it right, and it will treat you right in return. The mountains are treacherous, but only if you do not know the way. Everyone’s been packing for a while, storing up rations, gathering supplies. They are prepared to leave. 

So is she.

As much as she wants to stay with Wade, Tristan, and Maria, she refuses to sit there and hide. To sit there and hide in fear, trembling in the dark.

Not now, not ever again.

Barney can sense her apprehension as she loads up her saddlebags, giving her a curious look with a small whine.

Looking at him now, as he thumps his tail against the dirt when she scratches him in that _ perfect _ spot, you wouldn’t think that he has a kill count that matches her own. 

It’s almost gruesome, how little she cares about those she killed. She feels disgusted with herself for not feeling guilty. But they threatened what she loved, who she loved, everything that matters.

She is Licia Everett. 

And she refuses to have her life _ stolen _ from her again.

* * *

**IX - Ghost town**: Hubert von Vestra knows a pattern when he sees one.

* * *

The influx of new troops has been a boon to their efforts. But, recently, the strangest thing has been happening. Pretty much everyone sent to a town near Fodlan Fangs has not returned. Wyvern attacks, they say. 

Wyvern attacks are indeed common in that area. It wouldn’t be unheard of for a few people to go missing as a result of them.

Once is unfortunate. Twice, a tragedy. But three times, three times is a pattern. 

Hubert does not know what really caused those officers to not return, but he has his suspicions. Granted, it could _ actually _be the result of a wyvern attack. 

But the chances of that, in his opinion, are about as likely as Ferdinand being quiet.

Hubert von Vestra is someone who many might call paranoid. But he is fine with that. He sees no issue with paranoia, if people _ are _ actually out to get you. And in this case, someone was _ definitely _ out to get the men sent to Fodlan’s Fangs.

Julian von Oche was a stuck-up, spoiled, noble brat, and from what Hubert knew of him, it wouldn't surprise him if Julian had said something that got himself killed. He likely tried to push his political power, which is foolish when you’re in a place where nature can kill you in fifty different ways and the locals care little of your political status. 

Truth be told, if not for the political shitshow Julian’s disappearance has caused, Hubert would argue that it wasn’t that big of a loss. Unfortunate, yes, but not a tragedy. The man was an oaf, and had no real skill. He was likely going to be court martialed soon for some of his recent behavior anyways. This simply saved them the trouble of having to do so.

Not everyone is happy with Lady Edelgard’s leadership. There are several rebel groups scattered around territories near the border, but as far as he knows, there are no active rebel groups in or near Fodlan’s Fangs. Let alone in a tiny fishing town.

But this only raises an even bigger question. 

If wyverns did not kill them, and neither did rebel groups, then who, or_ what _, did?

This would require some investigation.

* * *

The report Hubert receives from Francis only serves to muddy the waters further.

_Mr. Harold,_

(**Sir Hubert,**)

_I went to the farm you told me about. The one with the egg thieves._

(**I went to the town you sent me to investigate. The one near where the men went missing.**)

_The hens are no longer in the coop. _

(**The townspeople are gone.**)

_Perhaps there is a fox in the henhouse? I’m not sure, no feathers or bodies anywhere. There are eggs still in the nest, untouched. You’d think a fox would have snatched those. Pretty strange, huh?_

(**Perhaps whoever was here was killed by whoever or whatever killed the men? I’m not sure. There is no blood, no signs of a struggle, and no bodies. The houses look untouched, which is unusual for a wyvern attack.**) 

_Aside from the eggs, the nest remains empty. There is no grain in the feed bin, no signs of the hens returning. _

(**The houses are empty, of both people and belongings. The people here do not appear to be planning on coming back.**)

_The farmer should keep a close eye on his livestock. There is something sinister going on with his hens. What do you think I should do? Should I help him? For now, I’m going to go back to town for a bit._

(**If you would give me permission, I would like to investigate further. Something is not right here. Going to town to send message and await more orders.**)

_Your friend,_

(**Your subordinate,**)

_Fred._

(** Francis .**)

* * *

He quickly writes out a reply. 

_Mr. Fred,_

(** Francis,**)

_I agree that the farmer should keep a close eye on his livestock. It sounds like a problem if his hens are going missing! Judging by what you said, it sounds like he could use the help. It’d be awful nice of you to help him out. Perhaps he’ll even reward you for your assistance! _

(**I am giving you permission to investigate further. Find something worthwhile, and you’ll be well-rewarded.**)

_But the farmer should be careful though, whatever made his hens disappear is likely dangerous. I’d hope the farmer would leave if whatever got his chickens starts to come after him. If you help him, you be careful, ya hear?_

(**Use due caution. Whatever or whoever caused this is likely dangerous. Leave if you feel your position is compromised or you are in danger.**) 

_Best of luck to ya’,_

(**Get back to me as soon as you have information.**)

_Harold._

(**Hubert.**)

* * *

A few weeks later, he receives another message from Francis.

_Mr. Harold,_

(**Sir Hubert,**)

_I went and helped out the farmer. Had a real good chat with some of his neighbors, too. They said the hens all just got up and left! Imagine that! Who’s gonna feed em’ if they don’t come back for grain? Apparently they just didn’t like the farmer much. Tried to boss em’ around too much._

(**Some people from the next town over filled me in. Everyone got up and left. Many of them disgruntled with the Imperial Army and the war effort after Julian and his men tried to force people to join for a quota bonus.**)

_If the gossip is to be believed, they all went off to Jerry Rock’s farm instead, as well as Simon Fisher’s. They were tempted with better grain. They don’t seem to be very interested in layin’ eggs for anyone, though. They aren’t causing the new farmer anymore problems, which is good. They just aren’t laying eggs._

(**Some of them went up to the mountains, and many of them left for the sea. Perhaps to Brigid? They don’t seem to be interested in the war, regardless of the side. Likely not a rebel group, but simply wish to be left alone.**)

_I’m probably going to head back to town for a while, but can go back to the farm if you think it’d be good to help out the new guy. _

(**Will return to town and wait there until I receive more orders.**)

_Overall, it was a great trip._

(**I think I got most of the information you needed.**)

_Your friend,_

(**Your subordinate,**)

_Fred._

(**Francis.**)

Even if what Francis thinks is true, and it is not a rebel group forming, something is clearly up in Dunmore. And he doesn’t like it. Not one bit. 

People don’t just get up and leave town because they are disgruntled. And when someone from the Imperial army recently went missing nearby, it only makes things more suspicious.

It likely means that the town as a whole, or someone in it, was involved in the disappearance of Julian von Oche and the others. What is strange, though, is that whoever caused the men’s disappearances (and likely deaths), has not gone out of their way to attack anyone else. 

It’s a threat, yes, to have someone kill his men, but Hubert doesn’t think it’s that urgent of a threat. Fodlan’s Fangs would be a strange place for a rebel group to hole up. There’s no strategic benefit to it. There aren’t any troops nearby to sabotage, and there are no resources coming from that area that are critical to the war effort. 

He has far more urgent matters to attend to. The Faerghus Dukedom has been causing some issues, and Arundel is always stirring up trouble. As much as he wishes they could simply be rid of Arundel and his ilk, they do not yet have the resources to fight a three-front war.

The northern territories in Faerghus are still rebellious, and the Leicester Alliance is causing problems with Claude at the helm. Unless the ghost in Fodlan’s Fangs strikes again, they can be dealt with later. 

He sighs, setting Francis’s report aside and moving to the next missive on his desk. Wonderful. Another rebellion in Blaiddyd territory. 

Hubert has far more pressing matters to deal with than a village hiding a traitor. But they will be dealt with, eventually. 

Just not now.

Hubert has much more urgent matters to attend to, at the current moment.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> X - Shadows, XI - Trapped, XII - Misunderstandings

**X - Shadows: **A series of unusual assassinations does not go unnoticed by Hubert.

* * *

Edelgard is busy sorting through a seemingly endless mountain of paperwork when she hears a knock at her office door. She sighs.

“I thought I asked not to be disturbed,” she says.

“I’m afraid it’s urgent, Lady Edelgard,” calls a voice through the door.

The voice that responds is one she knows well. 

“Come in, then, Hubert,” she replies. 

He enters her office, closing the door behind him.

“Duke Gerth was assassinated three days ago,” he says. 

“Oh?” she replies. “Was the culprit caught?” 

“No,” replies Hubert. “But their calling card was rather… unique.”

“How so?” She says, quickly penning her signature on a report she had finished reading over, before reaching for another.

“Did they make a mess?” Edelgard frowns. “Usually assassins want to be rather inconspicuous.” 

“Usually, yes,” agrees Hubert. “But not this one. I thought you’d be rather interested at what they left at the crime scene.” 

“Hubert, while I understand the political disaster this is likely to cause, did you really need to interrupt me to discuss the mess an assassin left behind at the crime scene?” she says. “I’m rather busy, if you can’t see.” She gestures to the mess of paperwork on her desk.

“The assassin wrote the names of two of your siblings in the Duke’s blood,” he says. 

She pauses her writing, taking a moment to process what Hubert had just said.

“Are you sure?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer. Hubert isn’t one for jokes.

“They wrote out their full names. Middle names and all. I’m positive,” confirms Hubert. He slides a document across her desk. “Leopold and Hilbert.”

She opens it, reads it over, and clenches her fist around her quill. Is this another one of Arundel’s ways of mocking her? 

“Do you think this has anything to do with Lord Arundel’s… _ associates _?” she says, setting down her quill neatly on the desk.

Hubert shakes his head. “I don’t believe so, no. None of the usual trademarks of_ their _ involvement were found.”

If it isn’t Arundel or his associates, then _ who? _ Not many people cared to know the names of the spares. Knowing Leopold’s name was understandable. He was first in line for the throne, before everything. But Hilbert, knowing his _ full _ name was far less common. 

“I want you to find this assassin, and I want them brought to me,” she says. She pauses for a moment. “Preferably alive.”

She wants to speak to the person that had the gall to mock her with the names of the dead, and she wants to know how the _ hell _ they knew that Leopold and Hilbert were the first to go. She doubts putting those two names together was a coincidence. It can’t be. 

“By any means necessary,” she says. 

“By any means necessary,” echoes Hubert. Hubert gives her a catlike grin. “Of course, Lady Edelgard. I’ll make sure to keep you updated.”

“Thank you, Hubert.” 

His smile softens slightly, less scary, more genuine. “No thanks are necessary, my lady. It is my _ pleasure _to serve.”

* * *

A few weeks later, there is another assassination. Count Varley is dead. Bernadetta is obviously distressed about the whole situation, but she seems more relieved than sad. Her relationship with her father was complicated, to say the least. Truth be told, he understands why. Virgil von Varley was not known for being a stellar father.

Nor was he known for being a stellar leader. If Hubert were to be honest, if Count Varley wasn’t assassinated now, he likely would have been later. Either by Hubert’s own hands, or someone else’s. It was simply inevitable. Count Varley had made many enemies over the years. He wasn’t exactly… _ popular _, one would say. And not even house arrest could save him from the assassin’s wrath, it seems.

Hubert stands at the crime scene and looks around.

The large window of the study is shattered, and glass fragments litter the ground around the study. Didn’t he know that putting in a window that large into a study is a security risk? If he did, he simply didn’t care. How arrogant of the count. Fool.

The office is truly a gruesome sight. The count’s body is covered in blood, and looks as if he was absolutely _ shredded _ . His head sits several feet away from his body, and it almost looks as if a beast had torn him limb from limb, as if he was mauled by a wild animal. At this point, Hubert won’t dismiss it as a possibility. Hubert has seen enough things go wrong with the demonic beasts those _ people _ employ, that it could very well be a possibility. 

But if that were the case, he might need to reconsider Arundel’s involvement. Because if demonic beasts are involved, that means that those who slither in the dark are as well. And it is the job of those who rule the shadows to ensure that they are kept in line.

He looks at the wall. 

There is blood splattered across the walls and the carpet. And next to the splatters, there on the wall, written in blood, are two more names, along with a message.

_ Gretchen Rachel Hresvelg _

_ Lorelei Edith Hresvelg _

_ Five left to go. _

By now, it’s obvious to Hubert who the next targets are. Clearly the assassin is after those involved in the insurrection of the seven, but as to _ why _ and _ how _ they know of their involvement of the deaths of the royal family… He is not sure. 

The message left along with the names does make one thing clear, though. The assassin likely doesn’t know that his father is already deceased. Hubert has been very careful to make sure that not many people are aware of the fact that his father is no longer on this earth. It’s always beneficial to keep information close, and this only proved him right.

Hubert will have to start preparing. There aren’t many options for who they will strike next, and two of the five would be practically impossible, one because he is already dead, the other because Arundel is just as paranoid as himself. And if Arundel was the one behind this, it’s unlikely he’d attack himself. (Despite how much Hubert wishes he would.)

That leaves three options. Four, if you count the fact that the assassin doesn’t seem to know about his father’s… _ unfortunate _ demise. Truly, a shame. 

Judging by the pattern, that means the next target is either (the late) Marquis Vestra, Count Bergliez, Count Hevring, and Duke Aegir.

But judging by location, it’s likely the next target would either be Duke Aegir or Count Bergliez. Those are the two closest options, of the four. 

He turns to investigate the scene further, and something crunches under his boot. He steps back. There, where his boot had previously been, are the crushed remains of something purple. 

Hubert kneels down to pick up a fragment of it. It’s durable, but flexible. A scale. A wyvern scale. And judging by the color, it’s a _ wild _ wyvern scale. So an animal _ was _ involved. How... fascinating. 

Wyvern riders in general are quite rare. They can often be quite finicky, and even those selectively bred and raised for battle can sometimes be rather selective about who they choose to bond with. Not to mention the fact they tend to come with a hefty price tag. Wild wyvern riders are even rarer, due to the danger involved in even obtaining one. But they are far brawnier, far bigger, and far more ferocious, and also far more colorful. 

No wonder the late Count Varley looks as if he was mauled by an animal. He likely was. Hubert places the scale fragment in his pocket. 

Hubert smiles. It seems likely that a new player has entered the field. Or perhaps… an old one has come out of hiding. He thinks back to the wyvern attacks near Fodlan’s fangs. Could these incidents perhaps be related?

Either way, this should be interesting.

He turns to one of his subordinates that came with him, a young man by the name of Robert. 

“Robert,” he says. 

“Sir?” he responds. 

“Send word to Lady Edelgard,” says Hubert, “that the spider has begun to weave its web.”

It was time for him to lay a trap. And he would _ personally _ make sure that whatever poor, unsuspecting fool thought it would be humorous to mock Lady Edelgard would come to regret it.

“Of course, sir.”

Robert turns to leave, but stops when Hubert speaks again.

“And Robert?” says Hubert, turning to look out the hole where the window was. 

“Yes, sir?” comes the response.

“Please also send word to Caspar and Ferdinand that I’ll be requiring their assistance effective immediately. Dorothea, as well. I’ll be requiring another mage for this.”

* * *

**XI -** **Trapped**: Adalicia is caught red handed.

* * *

Adalicia should have known better than to expect that nobody would notice, especially considering the scene she left. She’s likely going to get caught, sooner rather than later, if she keeps up at the rate she’s been going. 

She knew it was foolish, it was stupid, to kill Count Varley like that. There are far subtler ways to kill a man. Poison, a knife to the chest, but there was something _ poetic _ about writing the names of those they killed in their blood.

There’s something _ disgustingly satisfying _ about making sure they _ know _ what it’s like to be helpless, to scream, to cry, and for it to make no difference. They cry for mercy, but she has none left. Not for them. 

They had no sympathy for her, when she begged, when she screamed, when she cried. The gods, too, had no sympathy when she prayed, and prayed, and prayed. She would feel guilty, killing them, had they been men. But no man would condone such atrocities, no man would sit there and order children to be treated like animals. They are not men. They are monsters. And monsters must be exterminated.

She does not want to draw attention to herself, but at the same time, she _ craves _it. She’s never been one for politics, but word about the royalty and upper nobility travels like wildfire. 

_ Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg. _

Edelgard is in charge, she has _ power _ , she can make things change _ . _ She can, she could, but she never does. Arundel is still alive, doing goddess knows what, and most of the nobility were simply hidden away, stripped of power, but not of what matters. Their lives. Big sister El has done _ nothing. _To some degree, Adalicia understands. The crown is a heavy burden to bear, weighed down by tradition, responsibility, and politics. But on the other hand, she is still bitter.

_ Big sister El. Do you see me, big sister? I’m doing this for us. For me. For all of us. I am doing what you cannot. _

She knows that some part of her wants to see her sister again. But a bigger, larger, part of her, knows that that will never happen. Adalicia von Hresvelg is dead. Edelgard von Hresvelg is the emperor, and to even gain an audience with her would be incredibly difficult, if not impossible. She’s sure that if she even tried, she’d be thrown in the dungeons for impersonating royalty. Not to mention the fact that she lives in Enbarr. If Adalicia had a choice, she would never set a single foot in Enbarr ever again. 

But she will have to, eventually. Marquis Vestra is there. And to simply give up on her mission, on her reason for living, would be letting them win in their twisted game. And she refuses. 

The teachings of the Goddess are clear. Killing a murderer only makes you a murderer as well. Forgiveness is the way to salvation. But what is salvation to a person who is already damned? What does she have to fear of hell, when she’s already lived through it? The goddess did not listen, when she called. So why should she listen in return?

Adalicia is so numb, and so very tired. She has been running on nothing but spite and adrenaline. She has just five more, just five more to go until she can finally, _ finally _ rest.

And soon, it will be four.

* * *

“Caspar,” says Dorothea. “You might want to get ready. Someone just went through the perimeter I set up.”

“What?” says Caspar. “What the hell? What do you mean someone just went through the perimeter? I thought Hubert said it was more likely they’d go for Ferdinand’s dad, though.”

“He did,” says Dorothea. “But yours was still a possibility. And it looks like they decided to pick yours. Hurry up and get in position.”

“How the hell are they getting through so fast?” says Caspar, fumbling to get into place, adjusting his tie. “Didn’t you have men watching the fence? As well as your fancy-schmancy bullshit magic alarm?”

Dorothea shrugs. “Hubie said it was likely they’d have a wyvern. They probably flew up out of sight as soon as they saw the guard.”

Caspar frowns, taking a seat at his Father’s desk. “You really think they’re gonna fall for this?” he says. “I don’t look _ that _ much like my dad, do I?”

Dorothea laughs. “Don’t worry. You don’t need to. Just sit right there and let me work my magic. Pun intended. You remember the signal, yes?”

“Yeah. I press the button on the little brooch you gave me, and then you and your mages knock em’ out with a well placed sleep spell, right?” Caspar nods, before frowning. “You don’t think he’ll get me before I can press the button, do ya? No offense to my dad, but I don’t really wanna die in his place.”

“Caspar, don’t worry,” says Dorothea. “I’ll be right here the whole time. I showed you the barrier my mages set up, even if you don’t press the button, you’ll be fine. The brooch is just a failsafe, although you _ do _ look rather handsome in it. And even if the barrier doesn’t work, we’ll be right there the whole time, you just won’t see us.”

Dorothea waves a hand at the mages, who nod and get into position in the shadows.

“You’ve got your knife on you in case anything goes wrong, right? You didn’t forget it?”

“No, _ mom _, I didn’t forget my knife.” Caspar says it confidently, but just to be safe, double checks it’s there. It is. He gives Dorothea a smug smile. “See? I’ve got it right here.”

Dorothea looks as if she is about to make some sort of witty response, but glances away when her attention is suddenly drawn to something else.

“They just got through the second barrier. Get ready. I’m going to get into position now, okay?” She winks at him. “Just trust me. And if not me, trust in Hubie and Edie. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

“Dorothea, I still really don’t think this is such a good idea-“

“Hush, Caspar. It’ll be just fine.” She winks at him, before she gets into position herself. “Just be quiet and sit there, and they won’t be any the wiser as to the fact you’re not your father.”

Caspar sits there, and he can hear his heart beat in his ears as he waits. He gulps.

Thud.

The whole room shakes, as something lands on the roof.

Thud. 

_ Wyvern, is what Dorothea said. _

Stones and tiles go flying as a massive, purple wyvern crashes through the roof. Calling it a wyvern would be an understatement. This thing is _ massive _. Surely, it’s rider must be a fearsome warrior.

He squints a little bit, trying to see through the dust.

On the wyvern is… a girl? Not a woman, but a _ girl. _ What the hell? He thought this assassin would be some big giant burly person or something. He presses the button on his brooch.

The girl hops down from her wyvern. 

“I remember you,” she says. “I don’t suppose you remember me, do you, Count Bergliez?” 

She pulls out a knife, flicking it open and spinning it around in her hand.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

She grins, a wide, large, smile that shows far too many teeth to be friendly.

“Ah, but I suppose it was probably too presumptuous of me to assume you remember me,” she says. “But perhaps you remember this? After all, this is what you and your associates wanted from us, wasn’t it?”

She holds up a hand, and there, right in front of him, glowing bright in the barely-lit room is the sign of a crest. 

“But one wasn’t good enough for you all, was it?”

It’s the crest of flames. The professor’s crest. But that is not the professor.

The wyvern roars.

“Who the hell are you?” Caspar blurts out.

Shit, shit, shit! He wasn’t supposed to talk. “Your voice will give you away,” Dorothea said, “Whatever you do, just do _ not _ talk. For once in your life, keep your mouth shut.”

The girl pauses. 

“You’re not Count Bergliez,” she says.

_ Come on, Dorothea, anytime now! _

Out of the shadows jump Dorothea and several other mages, and in a flash of light, the girl and the wyvern drop to the ground, unconscious.

Dorothea grins.

“See, Caspar? Everything went just fine. Even though you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, it went all according to plan.” She pauses for a moment, and then frowns. “Aside from the whole… y’know… crest thing, that is. That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“I knew _ that _ much,” grumbles Caspar.

“Oh, did you?” says Dorothea. “Look at you, what a smart boy you are.” 

He huffs. “Glad to know you appreciate my- wait a second.“ He stops for a moment, processing what she just said, and frowns. “You weren’t actually calling me smart, were you.”

“No,” she confirms. “No, I wasn’t.”

She waves one of mages over who waits for orders. “One of you, go get Hubie. I’m sure he’ll be happy to know ‘_ the fly flew right into the web’ _, as he put it.”

The mage nods, before warping away in a flash of magic.

Caspar laughs. “That Hubert impression was _ spot on _, holy shit.”

Dorothea smiles. “Thanks, I try. Although, I rather disagree with Hubert on this one,” she says, glancing over at the unconscious girl on the ground with a frown. “It’s insulting to call such a cute little girl a fly.”

“That ‘cute little girl’ came here to kill my dad!” protests Caspar. “She tried to fucking kill me, dude!”

Dorothea shrugs. “Doesn’t change the fact she’s cute as a button. Look at that little babyface.”

* * *

When Hubert finally shows up, it’s clear he’s in a _ foul _mood. Caspar fiddles with his tie, while Hubert goes to Dorothea for information.

“So you’ve caught the rat, then?” he says.

“If by rat, you mean the little girl and her wyvern that tried to kill Count Bergliez, then yes.” 

“Little girl?” Hubert frowns. “Are you telling me that Duke Gerth and Count Varley were killed by _ a child? _”

“If the assassin is the same, then yeah. Child might be a strong word, though,” says Dorothea. “She looks about...hmmm… fourteen or fifteen, if I were to guess. I’d probably say closer to fifteen, though.”

“You’re not joking.” Hubert looks at Dorothea for a moment, who simply looks back, unphased. He sighs. “Take me to her.”

“I don’t think she’ll be able to answer your questions right now, Hubie.” Dorothea frowns. “I’m pretty sure she’s still out cold. Poor thing didn't have much resistance to magic.”

At that, Caspar scoffs and butts in, finally managing to get the tie off and throwing the offending item of clothing aside. “Poor thing? Dorothea, that “poor thing” tried to kill me!”

Dorothea waves her hand. “Yes, poor thing. When I changed her into those ugly prison garbs Hubert insisted on, she was covered head to toe in scars. It almost looked as if she had been dissected before or something, the scars looked clinical, deliberate. And Caspar, she didn’t try to kill _ you _ , she tried to kill _ your father _.”

“But Dorothea, I _ was _ my father!” Caspar waves his arms. “She, like, muttered something about crests and like did that thing with her hand that showed hers off, and then she pulled a knife and I swear her wyvern was about to-”

“Caspar.” Hubert cuts off his rant, and ignores Caspar’s annoyed huff. “What did she say about crests exactly? Did you see what she did to show hers off? Tell me _ exactly _ what you saw.”

“She said somethin’ about ‘one not bein’ good enough for you, Count Bergliez’, and then casually showed off the fact that she’s got the professor’s crest.”

Hubert frowns. “And you’re sure about this?”

Before Caspar can respond, Dorothea does. “I saw it too,” she says. “I’m positive. She had the professor’s crest. Hubie, just who _ is _ she?”

The crest of flames. The scars, looking as if she had been dissected. The royal siblings. The comments about one crest not being good enough. The hatred of those involved in the insurrection of the seven. 

_ Could it be? No, they’re all dead. _

Although… it is unlikely, but the bodies were never found. It is a possibility. But even if that were the case, she’s the wrong age. If what Dorothea said is correct, and she is roughly fifteen, she can’t be. The youngest, Hilbert, would be around sixteen or seventeen. 

But… malnutrition and trauma are known to stunt growth. The second youngest would have been around eighteen or nineteen by now. And the second-youngest, Adalicia, was a girl. 

_ Perhaps... _

“I’m not sure,” replies Hubert. “But I have an idea.” 

He will need to contact Lady Edelgard. On the off chance that his theory is correct… she will definitely want to know.

* * *

**XII - Misunderstandings**: Adalicia wakes up and does not understand why she isn’t dead.

* * *

Adalicia wakes up slowly, and her head is throbbing. She can’t think straight. Something’s not right. She can’t feel the familiar rough fabric of the eyepatch. 

_ That’s weird, I don’t remember taking it off. _

She moves her hand to rub her face, but is stopped short by something around her wrist.

She tries again, still dizzy. There is still resistance, and the telltale clanking of chain links moving. 

She’s back there again, ten years old. Please, not again, please, no more. No more, no more, she just cannot take it anymore. It’s not fair, and she’s so small, so powerless, so weak. 

She tries to move her leg, but it, too, is restrained by the ankle. She can move it, but not far. 

Her heart races in her chest, and she cannot breathe. 

Her blood is on fire, and she burns and she burns and she wants big brother, but big brother is gone, gone gone gone.

Her eye shoots open. The room is dimly lit, and she is clearly someone’s prisoner. Why she is not dead, she is not sure.

_ Damn it. Fuck, fuck, fuck! _

_ No, no, no. This can’t be happening. _

_ FUCK! _

She clenches her fist. She _ knew _ it was a stupid idea not to wait before going for the next one. She should have planned better, should have been more subtle, shouldn’t have gotten so cocky. Shouldn’t have, wouldn’t have, couldn’t have, it’s all too late now.

She sits at a chair, and the table she rests her head on is hard and rough on her cheek.

_ Barney. _

_ Where is he? Where is Barney? Is he okay? Fuck, what if I got him killed? _

_ I’m so sorry, Ber-Barney. I’m so sorry I’ve failed you. I do nothing but fail everyone, don’t I? I wasn't good enough to save anyone, not Bernard, not Hilbert, not Leopold, not anyone. I’m never good enough. _

_ Stupid girl. _

_ Stupid child. _

She clenches her fists.

She is in a tunic and some basic trousers, but she feels so _ naked _ with her arms out in the open. She has no grieves, no gauntlets, no gloves, nothing to hide the scars that work their way up her arms.

_ Why didn’t they kill me? _

_ I deserve death. I shouldn’t be alive. _

_ Why am I alive? _

She manages to lift her head when the door opens and in walks a woman. She is gorgeous, and confident, and walks in like she owns the place. For all Adalicia knows, she could. The woman smiles at her.

_ Why is she smiling? _

Adalicia must have given away her thoughts through her reaction, because the woman chuckles.

“What? Were you expecting some big, burly, mean guy?” She says. “Or was it just something on my face?”

Adalicia frowns.

“Barney,” she says. “Where is he? I won’t tell you anything if you’ve harmed him.”

The woman frowns, confused. “Who?”

“My wyvern,” clarifies Adalicia. “Is he unharmed?”

“Oh, he’s just taking a little nap somewhere else,” she says. “Don’t worry, he’s just fine.”

Adalicia glares. “And how do I know you’re not lying to me? Prove it. Take me to him. Now.”

“Sorry, can’t do that right now,” she says, as she takes a seat across from Adalicia. “Hubie wouldn’t be too happy with me, and he’s already not pleased with me for bullying him into letting me talk to you first.”

“Hubie?” echoes Adalicia. 

“You’ll meet him later,” she says. “I just figured that it wouldn’t be such a good idea to scare such a cute little girl by having his grumpy face be the first one you see when you woke up.” 

She rests her chin on her hands. “I figured it’d be good to have a little girl talk, just the two of us.”

“I’d rather not,” says Adalicia. “Can you please just go ahead and kill me? I’d rather we get this over with sooner rather than later.” 

The woman frowns. “Who said we were going to kill you? That’d just be a waste.”

Adalicia scoffs. “I know what happens to traitors. I killed two members of the nobility. That’s a death sentence.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” the woman laughs. “The two particular nobles you killed? Hubie was probably going to kill them himself, sooner or later. You just beat him to it.”

She lifts her head off of her hands. “And between you and me, Count Varley deserved it. Dude was an asshole. Good on you, kid.”

Adalicia clenches her fists. 

_ Stupid child. _

“I’m not a kid,” she says with a glare. 

“Of course you’re a kid,” says the woman, raising an eyebrow. “What are you? Fourteen? Fifteen?”

_ Foolish girl. _

“Eighteen,” mumbles Adalicia. “I’m not a child.”

“Eighteen?” echoes the woman. “Wow, I would have never guessed, with that cute little babyface of yours.”

Adalicia moves her hands to play with her fingers, and the metal chains clank. The woman glances at them and frowns.

“Honestly, I told Hubie that those were unnecessary. What are you going to do, kill me?” The woman shrugs. 

“I could,” replies Adalicia.

“With what weapons?” says the woman. 

“I could be a mage,” says Adalicia. 

“You’re not,” says the woman. Adalicia doesn’t respond, but her silence clearly tells the woman that her assumption is correct.

They both turn as the door opens, and in walks a tall, lanky, darkly clothed, dark haired man. 

“Hubie, I thought I told you to wait!” says the woman, frowning. 

“Dorothea,” says the man. “Lady Edelgard will be arriving soon.”

_ Big sister. Big sister is coming. _

“Ah,” says Dorothea. “I see.”

Dorothea gets up, and she and “Hubie” walk towards the door. Dorothea walks through the door, and “Hubie” turns back briefly, giving her a glance over his shoulder.

“Behave,” he says, as if she is a _ dog. _

_Obey._ _Do not resist._

“Fuck you,” she hisses, as the man walks out. 

He smiles and continues on his way, exiting and closing the door behind him.

Bastard.

* * *

When Edelgard walks through the door, Adalicia swears her heart almost stops. Adalicia can’t bring herself to look at her, to meet her gaze.

She hears Edelgard’s breath hitch slightly. 

“Adalicia,” says Edelgard. “Why-”

“That’s not my name,” replies Adalicia, cutting her off.

“Of course it is,” says Edelgard. “Your name is Adalicia Aria Hresvelg. You’re my sister.”

“No, I’m not,” replies Adalicia. “Your sister is dead.”

“She was,” says Edelgard. “But-”

“She _ is _,” corrects Adalicia. “Adalicia is dead. She died in Enbarr. The little girl you’re looking for, the one who used to go on and on all day about ponies, is dead.”

“That little girl I was looking for is still there. She simply grew up,” replies Edelgard. “And it seems as if she’s moved on from ponies, nowadays.”

Adalicia cannot bring herself to look up, to meet that gaze she’s almost sure is looking at her with pity. Adalicia doesn’t _ want _ her pity. She doesn’t need it.

“Wyverns, huh?” says Edelgard. “Bernard always did say you had a way with animals.”

She pauses, briefly.

“You named your wyvern after him, didn’t you? Barney, Dorothea said it was called.” 

Adalicia doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t need to. Her silence is more than enough confirmation. 

There is a brief, awkward silence.

Adalicia glances up, just briefly, and Edelgard’s gaze tears right through her. She feels so naked, so vulnerable, as if Edelgard can see through her very soul. 

_ She is Licia Everett. _

_ She has one brother, a mother and a father. _

_ She was Adalicia von Hresvelg, and she had eleven siblings. _

_ She doesn’t know who she is anymore. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> XIII - Lunch, XIV - Fresh Air, XV - Reasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh I'm still not entirely happy with this, but I'm putting it out anyways

**XIII - Lunch:** Caspar delivers lunch to Adalicia, and it goes about as well as you might think.

* * *

It’s not long after Edelgard leaves before she’s moved to a far nicer room. 

The chains are gone, the hard table and chair replaced by a desk and a chair with a lovely cushion. Calling it a desk would be an understatement, considering it’s large enough to double as a table. The roughspun tunic and pants are replaced by new clothes that fit her as if they were custom made. They probably were, using the measurements of her armor, if Adalicia had to guess. (At the very least, alterations were made.)

She gets a bed with cushy pillows and soft sheets, a bathtub not unlike the one she used to love as a child, a selection of sweet scented oils, books, and pretty much everything she could have ever asked for. 

Everything, that is, except for an exit. It is a lavish prison, yes, but it is a prison all the same. It is nothing more than a gilded cage, for a songbird that does not sing.

There are no windows. She’s checked. The door is locked, with guards stationed outside, and the walls are thick stone that she could not get to budge if she tried. 

She sits on the bed and counts the cracks in the wall until there is a knock at the door.

“I hope you’re decent, princess, cuz’ I brought lunch!” calls a voice. 

She knows that voice. It’s the same fool who impersonated Count Bergliez.

There are a few moments of silence before she hears the clanking of keys, and the door swings open. Through it, behind the young man, she can see the guards stationed outside the door. Even if she were able to make a run for it, to get to the door before he closes it, she wouldn’t make it very far.

The young man closes the door behind him with his foot, and starts to move towards the table.

“Thank you for lunch, ‘Count Bergliez’,” she says sarcastically, as she gets up and follows him to where he sets a covered plate on the table.

“I’m not actually Count Bergliez. The name’s Caspar, actually,” he says, correcting her. “Count Bergliez is my dad.”

Caspar dramatically lifts the cover on the plate to reveal an assortment of finger foods. There are apples slices, crackers, and some small slices of various fine meats and aged cheeses.

“Ta-da!” he says, waving his hands in the air. 

Of course it’s finger food. No silverware involved. They treat her like their precious little princess, but they do not trust her. Understandable, considering she doesn’t trust them either. She’d be a fool to think that she wouldn’t be dead if she wasn’t related to Edelgard.

Caspar smiles. “Pretty snazzy, eh, princess?”

Adalicia frowns, before walking over to the plate and grabbing an apple slice. “Don’t call me that.”

He furrows his brow, confused. “Don’t call you what?” 

“Princess,” she clarifies, popping the apple slice into her mouth. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” says Caspar, crossing his arms across his chest. He points a finger at her. “That’s what you are. It’s disrespectful to call ya’ anything else.”

“It’s also disrespectful to not respect my wishes,” she says. “So don’t call me princess.”

“Well then what else am I supposed to call you?” he says, scratching his head a little. “Hubert said I’m supposed to call you ‘princess’ or ‘my lady.’ And no offense, but Hubert scares me a hell of a lot more than you do.”

“Well, I don’t give a shit what Hubert thinks,” she replies, reaching for another apple slice. “Call me Licia.”

“Listen, prin-”

“If you don’t stop calling me princess we’re going to have some problems,” she says, cutting him off. “Call me Licia.”

“Alright,” he says. “But if Hubert kills me, then I’m coming back to haunt you.” He pauses for a moment. “Linhardt too. He wouldn’t ever leave the library if I wasn’t there to drag him out from it.”

“If Hubert kills you,” she says, “he’d be a fool.” She grabs another apple slice. “It’d be a waste of resources to kill a strong soldier for simply calling someone the wrong name.”

He preens under the praise. “I think we’ll get along just fine, p-Licia.” He corrects himself. 

“Listen,” he says. “I know that right now it might not seem like it, but we really are on the same side here.”

“Are we?” she says, giving a pointed look to the door. 

Caspar’s excited grin wilts slightly. “Well, no, because you don’t seem to like us all that much,” he says. “I’m on your side, but you on mine? Not so much.” 

She sends him an unamused glance that clearly tells him she thinks he’s stupid, but he either doesn’t notice or ignores it. Adalicia is not sure which.

“But,” he says, “you’re Edelgard’s sister, and Edelgard and I are on the same side, so, like, eventually, we’ll all be on the same side, right?”

He shrugs. “I mean, I know we got off to a bad start, with you trying to kill my dad and all, which, by the way, was totally not cool. But Dorothea seems to like you well enough, and Edelgard obviously thinks you’re okay, so like, I figured everyone deserves a second chance, right?”

“You’re naive,” she says. “You’re naive to think that one day someone won't take the chance you offer them just to use it against you. Do you know why the food you were sent with was entirely finger food?”

He takes a moment to think, but before he can respond, she answers her own question.

“Because they don’t want to give me a weapon,” she replies. “In the hands of the desperate, anything can be made into a weapon. A spoon, a fork, even a dull butter knife can do some serious damage if you know where to stick it.” 

“So you’re saying you could kill someone with a _ spoon _?”

She shrugs. “Probably, yeah.”

_Why the hell is he excited?_

“That’s awesome!” he says. “You totally have to teach me how to do that sometime.”

She chews slowly and gives him a concerned look. She just told him she knew how to kill someone with a spoon, and he says that’s awesome.” He’s either stupid, overly trusting, or both.

She reaches for a cracker.

He grabs one of the chairs for himself, before turning it around and sitting down on it, leaning his arms on what used to be the back of it.

“So…” he says. “You’re a wyvern rider. That’s pretty cool. I always thought it’d be cool to get a wyvern, but I’m not much of a flyer. Besides, they’re like… _ crazy _expensive. And considering I don’t have an inheritance, and given the size of my family…” He shrugs. “Well, they were always out of my price range.”

She nods as she chews. 

“Where’d you get your wyvern?” he asks. Caspar spreads his arms wide in the air. “Yours is like, _ huge. _I’ve never seen a wyvern that big.”

“Have you ever been to the mountains?” she replies. 

“No,” says Caspar. “Not for very long, anyways. We went to some occasionally for missions back when we were in the Academy. Never for more than a few days, though.”

“That’s why you’ve never seen one, then,” she replies. “The only ones that get that big live up in the mountains.”

“Oh.” He nods in understanding, before he realizes something and frowns, rubbing a hand on his chin. “Wait, if that’s true, then how’d you get yours? I don’t think they sell mountain wyvern eggs, do they?”

“Oh, that was rather simple. I didn’t buy one,” she replies. “I stole an egg from some of the wild ones that live in Fodlan’s Fangs.”

“You _ what?” _

“Stole an egg. What, did you seriously think I had the money to _ buy _ a wyvern?” she says, raising an eyebrow.

“Well,” Caspar shrugs. “Considering nobody even knew you were alive until now, I guess not. Can’t exactly have access to the royal treasury if people don’t know you’re a royal.”

He frowns. “But why didn’t you just come home, then? I’m sure once you got back you and Edelgard would have plenty of funds to get yourself a wyvern.”

Adalicia hums. “Didn’t want to.”

“Didn’t want to? Why not?” asks Caspar, confused. 

“Because I was happier being dead,” she says. 

“I don’t get it,” says Caspar. “Edelgard would have welcomed you back with open arms. She’s family, and family looks out for each other.”

_Uncle, please. Uncle, why? Why, why, why?_

_It burns, it burns, it hurts it hurts it h _ ** _u _ ** _ r _ ** _T s_ **.

_Uncle, how could you?_

“Funny,” says Adalicia. “I used to think the same thing, once.”

* * *

**XIV - Fresh Air:** Dorothea sneaks Adalicia out of her room for a trip to the gardens.

* * *

The next visitor that comes is around dinnertime. She hears a knock at the door, before there is that familiar clanking of keys and Dorothea lets herself in.

“Good evening,” she says. “I hope you don’t mind me bringing you your dinner instead of Caspar.” She laughs. “I swear, by the time that boy would have gotten here he would have eaten it all himself. He eats more than a horse.”

Adalicia sits up from where she was dozing in bed.

“Edie would have come to see you around now, but something came up that she had to deal with, so you get me instead,” she says with a wink. “Or well, it was supposed to be Caspar, but as much as Caspar is a lovely young man, too much time with him can be a bit much for anyone.”

Adalicia hops up off the bed with a scoff. “_ Any _ time with him can be a bit much. Does he ever shut up?”

“No,” replies Dorothea. “No he doesn’t, as much as we all wish he would sometimes. But we love him anyways, even if some days I wish I knew where he got his energy from.”

Adalicia makes her way over to the table and starts to eat as Dorothea looks around the room.

“This place is so _ dull,” _she says. “How do you not bore yourself silly in here?”

Adalicia shrugs. “I was given some books.”

Dorothea frowns. “Books are wonderful, but not even Linhardt can survive off of books alone. How would you feel about a little time out of this room, huh? Maybe just a little walk?”

“I doubt that’s allowed,” she replies, “considering I’m not even allowed silverware.”

“It isn’t,” Dorothea shrugs. “But I won’t tell if you don’t.”

She winks at Adalicia. “If we get caught, I’ll take the blame. Sometimes it’s better just to ask for forgiveness later than to ask permission now. Especially when it comes to Hubie. He’s always such a stick in the mud.”

Adalicia does not think this will end well, but she’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. She’s been _ dying _ to stretch her legs.

* * *

Adalicia has never liked Dorothea more than the moment she tells the guards by the door to “Go away, I’m overruling Hubert.”

When they protest, she shushes them. “We’ll be back in an hour or two, and if she tries anything,” Dorothea shrugs, holding up her hand and letting a few sparks of electricity run out through her fingertips. “I’ll be just fine.”

She grabs Adalicia’s hand and drags her through the door, and Adalicia can’t help but flash a smug smile towards the guards’ flabbergasted expressions as she walks by.

As Dorothea leads her down familiar hallways, in her mind, Adalicia can still hear the laughter echoing the halls from when she was a child, when times were simpler, when there was nothing more to worry about than who was “it.” It doesn’t take her long to figure out where they are headed.

The gardens.

When they step outside, into the courtyard, there is a slight breeze that makes Adalicia glad she has long sleeves. 

There are flowers lining the various paths in the courtyard. With the same types of colorful chrysanthemums (that Gretchen used to always spend so much time looking at) blooming in beautiful colors alongside the pansies and geraniums, it is truly a veritable paradise inside a sea of dark stone walls. 

The air is fresh, and crisp, and Dorothea lets Adalicia’s hand go as she wanders over to a small stone bench. The bench is smooth, and stone, with ornately carved legs and armrests, and she has vague memories of sitting on it next to Leopold as he read her and Hilbert stories.

“It’s always nice to get some fresh air, isn’t it?” says Dorothea, as she takes a seat next to her and looks over the flowers. 

“Yeah,” says Adalicia. “It is.” She pauses for a moment, not sure what to say. “I…”

Dorothea simply waits for her to finish her thought. 

“Thank you,” says Adalicia.

She pauses briefly, before realizing she didn’t really explain what she was thanking Dorothea for.

“For this,” she clarifies, gesturing around at the garden. 

Dorothea smiles. “It was nothing. Everyone needs a little fresh air once in a while. While I understand Hubie is being cautious, not letting you out of your room at all is nothing short of cruel.”

“But the reason for it is understandable,” says Adalicia. “He has no reason to trust me, after what I have done. I do not trust him either.” 

_Nor do I trust you. Or anyone here._

“It’s nothing personal.”

“Edie misses you, you know,” says Dorothea. “I am pretty sure she fears that you do not want to see her.”

Dorothea pauses.

“She won’t say it, of course, but it’s quite obvious if you know how to read her,” says Dorothea. Dorothea glances over towards Adalicia. “She’s a bit of a workaholic when she’s sad.”

“No,” Adalicia says, as she clenches her fists. “Edelgard does not miss me, she misses her sister.”

Dorothea frowns. “But you are her sister.”

“No,” Adalicia says, “I’m not.”

There is a brief moment of silence before she continues.

“I haven’t been for a long time now.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t ever be again,” says Dorothea. 

Adalicia does not respond.

Dorothea does not push the issue further, and Adalicia rests her head on the back of the bench and closes her eyes. 

She’s so _ tired _.

It isn’t long before she falls asleep. 

* * *

Adalicia’s head rests on Dorothea’s shoulder as Hubert and Edelgard approach them. Dorothea can hear the telltale click clack of their boots against the stone path as they approach.

Hubert takes one look at them and frowns slightly.

“Dorothea,” says Hubert. “There are rules for a reason.”

“And rules are meant to be broken, Hubie,” responds Dorothea, quietly. She raises her finger to her lips. “Don’t be so loud, she’s fast asleep.” 

Hubert looks as if he is about to lecture her, before Edelgard stops him.

“It’s fine, Hubert,” says Edelgard softly, “I’m sure that Dorothea has everything under control.”

“I do,” confirms Dorothea. “So you can go back to whatever sinister deeds you happen to have on your agenda today. Edie and I will be just fine.”

Hubert opens his mouth to protest, but Edelgard holds up a hand. “You were telling me you had a lot of work to do. Go. I’ll be alright.”

“Yes, Lady Edelgard,” he says. He starts to walk away, before pausing and sending a glance back over his shoulder. 

“Should you need me-” he starts, before Edelgard cuts him off.

“I need only call. I know.” She smiles at him.

Hubert leaves, and Edelgard takes a seat on the other side of Adalicia.

“She reminds me a bit of you, you know,” says Dorothea.

“How so?” says Edelgard.

_Underneath all the armor, all the scars, is a scared, touch-starved little girl in dire need of a hug._

“Her face,” says Dorothea. “She looks a lot like you did back in the academy.”

Edelgard hums. “It would make sense, we do have the same parents, after all.”

“She’s quite a bit heavier of a sleeper than you are,” says Dorothea. “But I don’t know whether that’s just because she’s just tired from the past few days excitement, or whether she’s normally like this.”

Edelgard shakes her head. “She was always a heavy sleeper, even when we were young.”

She glances over at Adalicia, who is still out like a light, head on Dorothea’s shoulder.

“It seems like that hasn’t changed.”

Dorothea glances over to see Edelgard with a pensive expression on her face.

“You had better not be blaming yourself for this,” says Dorothea. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know that,” says Edelgard. “But some part of me can’t help but think that I shouldn’t have simply accepted it, should have looked harder, should have looked _ deeper _ into things.”

_It wasn’t the first time they had lied to me, after all._

“I should have known better.”

“But you didn’t,” says Dorothea. “You didn’t know. You can’t blame yourself for not acting when you didn’t even know there was anything to act on.”

Dorothea glances over, and notices the shadows under Edelgard’s eyes. 

“You haven’t been sleeping again,” she says, not asking, but telling. Dorothea sighs. “Edie, you know that isn’t healthy.”

“I’m aware,” she says. “But the political mess Adalicia has caused with her assassinations have been keeping me rather busy.”

“Bullshit,” says Dorothea. “You’re just a workaholic when you’re stressed. You used to do the same thing back at the academy. Is Hubert not nagging you to go to bed anymore?”

“No,” says Edelgard, “he still does that. He’s always worried sick about me.”

“For good reason,” says Dorothea. “If left alone you’d work yourself to death.”

“I would not.”

Dorothea frowns. “You would, don’t lie.”

Edelgard sighs. “I simply do what I must.”

“No, you do not do it because you ‘must'. I know for a fact that you have two extremely loyal men who would be more than happy to take over some of your paperwork.”

“I will perhaps consider delegating more work to Hubert and Ferdinand,” she acquiesces. “But they are already quite busy.”

A strong breeze blows its way past, and Adalicia shifts slightly in her sleep and shivers slightly.

“It’s getting cold,” says Edelgard, “We should get her back inside.”

Dorothea starts to shift and starts to move the arm Adalicia is not leaning on over to wake her before Edelgard stops her.

“Don’t wake her,” she says. “She needs her rest. I’ll carry her. Help me get her onto my back.”

Edelgard gets up, and she and Dorothea work together to get Adalicia draped over Edelgard’s back.

“Promise me you’ll go get some sleep after you get her back into her bed?” says Dorothea.

“I can’t promise, but I will try.”

* * *

Adalicia’s head rests on Edelgards’ shoulder as she carries her down the hallway. One might think it a strange sight, to see the Emperor carrying someone piggyback style down the hall, but Edelgard does not care. Every guard on this side of the castle has been handpicked, sworn to secrecy, and vetted by Hubert, and Hubert is nothing if not thorough in everything he does.

She can’t risk Arundel or any of his associates finding out Adalicia is alive. They’d try to use Adalicia, like they tried to use her, and more importantly, they’d try to use Adalicia against her. 

No It’s far safer for both herself and Adalicia if people continue to think she is dead. (At least until everything is over, the war is done, and those who slither are driven out of their burrows with their tails between their legs.)

Adalicia is far lighter than the professor was. It feels like so long ago, that the professor disappeared.

But she’s out there, somewhere. She _ has _ to be. Edelgard refuses to accept that such a woman would simply lay down and die. It’s not in her nature. And it’s not in Edelgard’s, either. She’s waiting, biding her time, and then she will come back, help guide them through this, and they will win this war, together.

But it’s been three years now. 

Surely, if the professor were out there, somewhere, somehow, she would have made her way back to them, to her.

She wants to believe that the professor is alive, but it’s not likely. 

_But then again, it’s not the first time someone has come back from the dead._

Edelgard glances over to her side, where Adalicia’s head drapes off her shoulder. 

_Adalicia didn’t make her way back on her own, who is to say that the professor will?_

Adalicia moves a bit, and slips slightly off of Edelgard’s shoulders in the process. Edelgard stops walking briefly to readjust, getting Adalicia securely back in place on her back.

Adalicia groans a little and mumbles in her sleep. 

“Mmm… five more minutes, Tristan.”

Edelgard does not know a Tristan. But Adalicia has been off who knows where, doing who knows what, for a long time now, so it makes sense she’d meet new people. 

She moved on. 

And so did Edelgard. 

She nods at the guards when she finally reaches the door to Adalicia’s quarters. 

One of them quickly grabs his keys and opens the door, holding it open for Edelgard. 

Edelgard walks in and gently places Adalicia into bed, grabbing a neatly folded blanket from a cabinet and draping it over her. 

She walks out of the door, and turns to the guards, who wait for orders.

“One of you go fetch me a glass of water, an apple, some paper, and something to write with,” she says. 

“Of course, your majesty.”

* * *

**XV - Reasons:** Adalicia and Edelgard have a long overdue chat and clear up some misunderstandings.

* * *

Adalicia wakes up on soft sheets instead of the stone bench she recalls drifting off on. 

The sunlight peeking through the curtains lets her know that she has slept through to the next morning. She wipes her eyes, still tired, and glances over towards the nightstand. On it, she sees an apple, a glass of water, and underneath the water glass, is a neatly folded note.

She grabs the water in one hand, and the note in the other. She downs the water, and takes a deep breath. She didn’t realize she was thirsty until the water was gone. 

She takes a deep breath and unfolds the note.

_Licia,_

_You fell asleep in the garden with Dorothea. I came to visit, but didn’t want to wake you. Brought you back when it got cold. See you tomorrow._

_El._

She grabs the apple, and tosses it up and down in the air, hand to hand.

Left. Right. Up. Down.

It’s a steady, rhythmic beat that helps to calm her mind, and the thoughts that race through it.

Left. Right. Up. Down.

And again. 

Left. Right. Up. Down.

Again, and again, and again.

She pauses, and holds the apple in her hand, before throwing it and catching it one last time. She takes a bite. 

It’s sweet, crunchy, and flavorful. Apples have always been one of her favorite foods, and it’s obvious that Edelgard at least is _ trying. _

But trying is not good enough. Unc-Arundel is still around, and not stripped of his power like many of the others were. And Edelgard has done nothing to get rid of him.

Adalicia was not rewarded when she tried, and tried, and tried, never to succeed. She was not rewarded when she did not do things right. She was punished when she tried and tried and did not get the results they wanted. The world rewards results, and it does not reward trying. It is a simple formula to follow. Did you achieve the desired result? If so, reward. If not, punishment. That is simply the way things are. 

She tried, and failed, and as punishment in her blood runs a fire, runs a blazing inferno that has not quieted from the moment it was lit. It is a tempest of energy she was never meant to have, that will keep burning and burning until one day, it will burn her from the inside out and leave behind nothing but ashes in her place.

She hates this. She hates the soft sheets, the lavish pillows, and wants nothing more than to use Barney as a pillow under the stars. 

But she is not allowed to see him. The nightmares are far more common without his company, and recently, more often than not, she has not been sleeping well.

She startles when the door opens.

She turns, and watches as Edelgard walks through the door, before turning her attention back to the apple.

“Good morning,” says Edelgard. “I hope you slept well.”

Adalicia doesn’t respond. “I want to see Barney,” she says instead.

Edelgard frowns. “You know I can’t allow that.”

“Why not?” she says sarcastically. “Am I your prisoner, or your sister?”

“And what are you going to do if I _ did _allow you access to your wyvern?” Edelgard sighs, rubbing a hand across her face. “You and I both know you wouldn’t be staying out of trouble.”

“I would hardly call getting justice getting into trouble,” she retorts, taking another bite of the apple.

“_ Justice _ is not tearing people apart like animals, Adalicia.”

Adalicia lets out a bitter chuckle. “Funny, to hear that coming from the woman who started a _ war _. Compared to that, is it really so wrong to want to tear Arundel to shreds?”

She grins, wide, large, feral.

“I want him to know what it’s like. I want him to feel like we felt. You of all people, El, should understand this. But you won’t do it.”

“It’s not that simple, Adalicia.” 

“Is it?” she responds. “Because it seems perfectly simple to me. You’re a coward.”

She waves her arms around towards the room. “You sit here in your fancy castle, while peasants are rounded up to die for your army.”

“You know full well that I cannot be present on every battlefield at once,” says Edelgard. “And I would have dealt with Arundel myself, but it’s not that simple, Adalicia.”

“Why _ not _ !?” she yells. “It’s all Unc-Arundel’s fault! Arundel, and the rest of them, and have done _ nothing _!”

Her good eye starts to water, and tears slowly start to drip down her face, one by one.

“I have done what I can, but things are not that simple, Adalicia. The man responsible for this is not Arundel,” says Edelgard. “And he is far more dangerous than Uncle ever was.”

Adalicia takes a moment to think. “If he’s not Arundel, then who the _ hell _ is he?” she says. 

“A member of an organization that is far too dangerous to risk tipping off,” she says. “Hubert calls them ‘those who slither in the dark.’ While wordy, it is an apt description. We currently do not know the location of their hideout, and they act in the shadows.”

“And you haven’t done anything about them?” she says. 

“Because in order to win this war, we require them to believe that we are on the same side,” says Edelgard. “No matter how distasteful I find the idea of working alongside them, their technology is highly advanced. If we were to add them to our list of enemies, we wouldn’t stand a chance. These people are _ powerful _, Adalicia.”

Edelgard takes a seat by her on the bed. 

“Do you know why we didn’t announce your return to everyone, or celebrate with a feast?”

Adalicia clenches her fist.

“It’s because if they were to find out you were alive, they’d attempt to use you, and not only that, they’d try to use you against me. And I can’t let that happen. For both your sake, and mine.”

Edelgard places a hand on her shoulder. 

“I know things are hard right now, and you may hate me, but I am prepared to bear that burden. Everything I do is for you, for our brothers and sisters, for the people of Fodlan, for all of us and for a better future.”

Adalicia does not like all the things Edelgard has done. But Adalicia does understand where she is coming from.

Despite how much she wishes she didn’t.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> XVI - Reunions, XVII - Doubts, XVIII - Awakenings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for advance for any typos or inconsistency- this chapter was written in several chunks over a rather long period of time, and I feel like my writing style has changed considerably since I first started this fic. (Overall, not a bad problem to have!) Truth be told, I'm still not perfectly happy with this, but I wanted to get it out anyways. I do this as a hobby, it doesn't need to be perfect :D

**XVI - Reunions: **Adalicia’s reunion with Barney is bittersweet, and she faces the consequences of ignoring her emotions for far too long.

* * *

After what feels like years, Edelgard finally caves. With the news that she’ll be allowed to see her wyvern, Adalicia cannot sit still.

She paces her room, going in circles. Around and around she goes, step after step, one foot after the other. She doesn’t know why, but pacing helps her to think. 

It always has, even when she was young. 

If someone read something to her while she paced, or if she read while pacing (much to the dismay of many of her etiquette tutors), she’d always remember the information far better than if she didn’t.

It’s a habit Adalicia hasn’t broken.

When she is stressed, she paces. When she is frustrated, she paces. When she simply doesn't know what to do with herself, she paces.

She stops when she hears the fiddling of keys outside her door.

There’s laughter, and the door flings open to the smiling face of Dorothea. Beside her is another woman.

Adalicia is not surprised that Dorothea isn’t alone. She usually isn’t, when she comes. Be it Caspar, or someone else, Dorothea is never alone. 

But this woman is new.

“Good morning,” says Dorothea. “Big day, isn’t it?”

An arm wraps around her shoulder and she can’t help but tense up. 

“I’d like you to meet someone,” says Dorothea, nudging her forward towards the other woman.

“Petra, this is Licie, Licie, this is Petra,” she says. “Petra has been nice enough to look after your wyvern for us.” 

“Hello,” says Petra. ”It is nice to be meeting you.”

The walk to the rookery is largely quiet aside from Dorothea occasionally chatting with Petra. Adalicia does not pay much attention to what is being said, instead focusing on the fact that she will _ finally _ be able to see Barney again.

Adalicia had never really realized how much she’d come to rely on him for support until she did not have him. Barney is a companion, a friend, a pillow on cold nights, a hunting partner, an ally. It feels weird to wake up in the morning and not have a purple snout in her face, to not feel the _ thump thump thump _ of his tail whacking against the ground as he waits for treats, to not feel the worn leather of his saddle under her fingertips, to not hear the crunch of stray scales under her boots.

As they get closer to the rookery, she can start to hear the faint chittering of the wyverns. She can feel her heartbeat start to race in anticipation, her muscles tense, and the excitement rushes through what feels like every bone in her body.

_Barney._

_He’s here. He’s here, he’s here, he’s here._

* * *

As soon as Petra unlocks the door, Adalicia rushes in. Barney lets out a low grumble, and the familiar feel of his snout in her hands feels _ right _, like that last missing puzzle piece finally fitting into place. 

“Hey, Bar,” she says. She chuckles a little bit as he sniffs her pockets, looking for treats. “I’m sorry I took so long.”

“No, no,” she lightly scolds him a bit as he digs his nose a bit too hard into her pockets. “None today, sorry buddy.”

Adalicia doesn’t know how much time has gone by. She simply keeps rubbing her hands on his face— as if to confirm he’s still there, he’s real, a grounding force to the hell that is the world they live in.

“Look at them,” says Dorothea. “Can you believe Edie wanted to keep those two separated? They’re like peas in a pod.”

“I can,” counters Petra. “He has been attempting to be biting me every day when I feed him. He is not usually so friendly towards most people, from what I have been seeing.”

“One could say the same about Hubie, but Edie still keeps him around.” Dorothea points out. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he acts a lot like a wyvern.”

Petra takes a moment to process this with a chuckle. “Yes, I suppose that is true. Although I would be arguing most wyverns are more… what is the word… personable than he is.”

Dorothea laughs. “You do have a point there, Petra. Kallisto is a huge sweetheart,” she says, before pausing briefly and glancing over towards Petra with a wink. “Just like her master.”

Dorothea swears she can see Petra’s cheeks redden before she frowns slightly, giving a pointed glance in the direction of Adalicia. “Now is not the time for these things, Dorothea.”

Dorothea laughs and places a hand around Petra’s shoulder. “Relax a little, Petra. She’s not going to try anything.”

“I can hear you, you know,” grumbles Adalicia. “And I could.”

“You won’t,” says Dorothea. “You have almost no magical resistance, and if you did try anything, every mage in Enbarr would be ready, able, and willing to strike you down. Including me. Don’t make Edie regret her decision to let you come here. It took a lot of convincing.”

Adalicia does not respond, instead turning her attention back to Barney. She can tell he hasn’t flown in a while. He lets his tail flick back and forth, as he always does when he’s been cooped up for too long.

But he is alive.

He is alive, his scales are smooth under her fingertips, his breath warm on her cheek, heartbeat steady in her ears.

Barney is alive. 

_She _ is alive. 

So much is wrong. But these are small comforts, and for now, that is enough.

* * *

The walk back is quiet. Adalicia’s hands feel painfully empty, grasping at straws of what is and what was. Her world is hollow, and behind her every footstep walks the ghosts of children who never grew up, in tattered, bloodstained dresses and trousers. 

_ Big brother, big brother! I want to be just like you! _

_ Big sister, big sister, you’re so smart! _

The portraits of family long since gone watch over the halls as they always have, stern visages staring into her very soul.

It will be at least another week before she can see Barney again. Another week of being haunted by ghosts of her own making, another week spent circling the room back and forth like she’s sure Barney has been in that stall.

She arrives back at her gilded cage without much fanfare, Petra and Dorothea’s departure marked by the sound of the lock clicking back into place. 

She is alone once again.

Alone, alone, alone. She’s been alone for a while. It’s something she’s been aware of for a long time now, but it’s as if that final puzzle piece falls into place and it finally sinks in.

She is hollow, a walking shell of a woman fueled by revenge and despair, fueled by nothing but selfishness and greed.

She takes a seat on the bed and holds her head in trembling hands. The final thread in the tapestry of her composure tears, and she falls apart at the seams.

Adalicia cries. Her chest is tight, her throat burns, and her good eye is clenched tightly shut. She feels as if she cannot breathe. But yet the sobs keep coming. Her hands instinctively grasp for her chest, because it is tight, _ too tight, it burns it burns it burns. _

She barely registers the sound of the door opening.

There is a slight dip in the bed as someone sits down next to her, and a hand is gently placed on her back.

She flinches, briefly, at the unexpected contact.

A crimson red glove slowly drags her head down to a crimson red shoulder, and moves to rub up and down her back.

_ “Hush-a-bye, don’t you cry. Go to sleepy, little baby.” _

A melody from long ago rings through the room, a song from times when her biggest worry was who would win the game of tag the following morning.

_ “When you wake, you shall take, all the pretty little horses.” _

She trembles and trembles, and the world is spinning and she is trapped.

_ “Oaks and bays, dapples and grays, coach, and six of little horses.” _

She is small again, and tucked in tight with a stuffed horse under her arm, and big brother Leo is there.

_ “Oaks and bays, dapples and grays, coach, and six of little horses.” _

She chokes a bit on a sob, and the hand on her back continues to rub up and down her spine, back and forth, to and fro. It is constant, warm, soft, gentle.

_ “Oaks and bays, dapples and grays, coach, and six of little horses.” _

Another heartbeat joins the one racing in her ears, steady, slow, and sure. The low vibrations of the song echo through her bones.

_ “Oaks and bays, dapples and grays, coach, and six of little horses.” _

Her breathing slows, her heartbeat slows, and she is so, so tired.

Just like she did as a child, she lets her mind slip away and falls into the dark embrace of sleep, chasing after the carriage with those six pretty little horses.

When she wakes up, her head is on a pillow instead of a shoulder, and the hand on her back is gone.

The blanket is neatly tucked in around her legs, and under her arm rests a small, worn, stuffed horse.

* * *

**XVII - Doubts: **Edelgard re-examines what it means to be a sister. Hubert does his best to help, and a yearly tradition makes its way around once more.

* * *

Things with Adalicia are still tense, but are not outright hostile. Edelgard will certainly say that’s an improvement, at the very least. 

Truth be told, for the first time in a long time, she is lost. They are both so different from the people they used to be, no longer little girls with ribbons in their hair running down the halls of the castle.

And even back then, they weren’t that close. Not compared to some of their other siblings, anyways. Edelgard always found herself closer to Lorelei than Leopold, and she and Adalicia had always had rather different interests. Adalicia had been into riding, Edelgard into reading. They are two sides of the same coin, forged in different flames—so similar, yet so different. 

Her pen stops.

Hubert, noticing the silence, glances up at her from across the room. At his insistence, he’s been camped out there for a few hours now with a large stack of work—a temporary office of sorts, if you will.

“Hubert,” she says.

“Yes, Lady Edelgard?”

“Am I...” asks Edelgard, pausing briefly to find the right words.

“Do you think I am a good sister?” she blurts out, before she can stop herself.

Because truly, she doesn’t know. She doesn’t remember what a good sister is supposed to be. Her memories of her siblings are fuzzy, at best. 

She remembers having them, yes. She remembers having siblings, vague memories of hugs, of reading together late at night in the library, but she doesn’t remember what it truly means to _ be _ a sister. She hasn’t been one for a long time. 

“I would certainly think so. I know Caspar’s brother does not look out for his siblings the way you have done for yours,” he muses. “Especially given the… unusual circumstances.”

“You and I both know we cannot compare Caspar’s brother to anything,” says Edelgard with a frown. “That man is an oaf.”

“That would be far too generous to the oafs, I would think.” Hubert snorts, before his small, tiny smile falls back into his usual unreadable expression. “Are you having doubts?”

“No,” says Edelgard. “Of course not.”

Edelgard hesitates, briefly. She’s not lying when she says she isn't’t having doubts. She’s sacrificed far too much, gone too far to think about turning back now.

“Not about everything, at least,” she clarifies.

She runs a hand across her face.

“I just don’t know what to do,” she says, sighing. “Regarding Adalicia.”

“Ah,” says Hubert. “Yes, that is a rather delicate situation, isn’t it.”

Hubert pauses, briefly.

“I cannot say that I would do anything different were I in your place,” he says. “Especially considering you have been making progress, have you not?”

“If you call a panic attack progress, then yes,” she huffs. “I suppose so.”

“I would have been surprised if there weren’t panic attacks,” says Hubert. “Given everything, it’s not an unreasonable course of action.”

Hubert pauses and hums briefly. “Not that that makes things pleasant for you, of course.”

Edelgard knows Hubert is right. Logically, she knows this, accepts the fact that she is doing the best she can given the circumstances. 

It doesn’t stop a small, rebellious part of her from screaming that she should have done more, _ could _ have done more. 

She picks up another report off the rather sizeable stack and starts to read.

But somehow, no matter how much she wills herself to pay attention to the total gross yield of the Bergliez territory grain harvest, her mind always ends up elsewhere.

“You’re overthinking things again,” says Hubert. “Perhaps you should take a break. Those reports aren’t urgent.”

Edelgard glances up. “If I do not take care of them now, then who will? This stack of reports does not lower itself on its own, Hubert.”

Hubert simply gives her an unamused glance over the letter was reading.

“I am well aware that it won’t double in size if you decide to take a break,” he says. “But if you insist, I cannot force you to stop.”

“No,” she relents, with a sigh. “You’re right. Perhaps a break would do me some good.”

What will be, will be, and it is far too late to turn back now. 

Edelgard cannot change the past.

But if everything turns out alright, she just might be able to change the future.

Hopefully, for the better.

* * *

It takes a few more weeks for Edelgard to convince Hubert to stop camping out in her office. Even when he finally relents and moves back to his own, he still somehow often ends up in hers for a few hours until Ferdinand comes in and drags him back to his. 

Edelgard does love Hubert’s company, don’t get her wrong, but too much of _ anyone’s _company gets tiresome. And unfortunately for her, Ferdinand is busy managing some business in his territory today—which means that this morning, Hubert came in, set down his stuff, and never left.

She’s well aware of his opinion on her sister. And Edelgard doesn’t fault him for being disgruntled, considering the mess Adalicia left behind her. 

She looks at the clock, briefly.

She hasn’t eaten in a while. Normally Hubert will nag her to, but a glance in his direction tells her he got just as caught up in his work as she did hers.

“Hubert,” she says. “Perhaps we should both take a break soon.”

Hubert glances up at the clock and then frowns. “I apologize,” he says. I should have kept a better eye on the time.”

_ “It’s not your job to,” _ Edelgard wants to say, but she bites her tongue. “The anniversary is coming up soon,” she says instead.

“Yes, it is,” agrees Hubert. They pack up their work quickly and neatly, before Hubert steps ahead of her to hold the door open. 

“Do you still plan on going to Garreg Mach?” he says. He glances over at her with that slight furrow of his brows that she knows means he doesn't approve, but not strongly enough to say it to her face.

“Yes,” she says. “It’s foolish and sentimental to think the professor would come back after all this time, but… some small, girlish part of me still hopes.”

She pauses, briefly.

“And if not, at the very least perhaps I’ll get some closure.” They both know that it is the most likely scenario Byleth won’t be coming back (and that her body is likely still buried under the rubble), but at this point, given everything, who knows anymore? 

Edelgard had thought all her siblings were dead and so had everyone else. It didn’t stop Adalicia from walking into her life like a ghost. Perhaps the professor would do the same.

It will be the third year she picks through the ruins for any sign of life— or lack thereof. It’s a stupid, sentimental tradition. She’s well aware of this. Tactically, it’s foolish, and a waste of resources, but it’s routine. It’s a tradition she can’t seem to let go of, a part of her sentimental heart she cannot ignore despite how much she tries.

“And what will we do about our current guest?” asks Hubert, frowning. “It would be unwise to leave her here, especially given Arundel’s tendencies towards… surprise visits.”

“I agree,” agrees Edelgard. The _ last _ thing she needs right now is to give Arundel another thing to hold over her head. “It would be unwise to leave her behind with how nosy _ Uncle _ can be.”

She takes a moment to think over her options, before she settles on a decision.

“We’ll bring her with us,” she says. “We’ll have proper supervision to ensure nothing happens, and perhaps the fresh air will do her some good.”

If Hubert disagrees with her plan, he doesn’t say it.

“I’ll make the necessary arrangements as soon as possible,” he says instead.

“Wonderful,” she replies. “Thank you, Hubert.”

“It is my pleasure, Lady Edelgard.”

* * *

“This place is a shithole,” grumbles Adalicia, as she kicks a small chunk of concrete across the ground.

Dorothea places a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be such a sourpuss. Sure, it may not be _ quite _ as pretty as it used to be, but Garreg Mach still has quite a lot to offer.”

At that, Adalicia snorts.

“Sure, maybe if you’re a cat.” She sends a pointed look towards where a rat skitters behind a pile of supply crates. “There’s no shortage of rats.”

“I’d argue there’s far more in Enbarr, actually,” counters Dorothea. “The ones here at least don’t talk.”

Dorothea moves to place her arm around Adalicia’s shoulder, and lets her other arm wave out towards the courtyard.

“Come on, enjoy the fresh air! Isn’t it nice being out of that stuffy old castle for once?”

Adalicia shrugs Dorothea’s arm off.

“My Wyvern is back in that _ stuffy old castle _,” she says. 

“And he’ll still be there when you get back. Petra’s taking good care of him,” says Dorothea, cutting her off. “We won’t be gone for that long.”

“It’s already too long,” grumbles Adalicia, as she sits down on a nearby bench and crosses her arms. “I just don’t get why we’re making a field trip in the middle of a war. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I suppose it’s because it’s a bit of a tradition by now,” says Dorothea. “We lost someone very important to us here, and she disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” asks Adalicia, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well,” Dorothea starts, before she stops to find her words. “She’s likely dead by now, as much as none of us want to admit it. But we never found a body, so it’s possible the professor’s still out there somewhere, although it is unlikely.”

“So she’s basically dead then,” says Adalicia. “We’re all here for a dead woman? How stupid.”

Dorothea frowns, and she takes a moment before she responds.

“I’d say we’re here not because of a dead woman, but because of what that dead woman did to bring all of us together,” says Dorothea. “Besides, you’d be surprised at how often dead people seem to suddenly come back to life these days.”

Dorothea sends a pointed look in her direction, and Adalicia can’t help but shrink in her seat a little.

“To be fair, I didn’t want to,” says Adalicia.

“Well, we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

“No,” agrees Adalicia, turning her gaze up towards the clouds. “No, we don’t.”

“Life is funny like that,” says Dorothea. 

* * *

**XVIII - Awakenings: **The last thing Byleth Eisner expects after the Battle for Garreg Mach is to wake up five years later. What she expects even less, though, is to be greeted back to Garreg Mach Monastery by a girl on a massive, purple wyvern.

OR: Two years after Adalicia’s first trip to Garreg Mach, she finally meets the woman who started it all.

* * *

Byleth Eisner doesn’t fully process that it’s really been five years until she arrives to find Garreg Mach Monastery in ruins. 

This wasn’t an unexpected development. The battle for Garreg Mach was not a small one, and she had seen much of the destruction happen firsthand.

But denial is a strange thing. Even when presented with the vines growing over the rubble, the dust on the fragments of stained glass, some part of her still expects to hear the bells ring, to see students walking from place to place unbothered, as if none of this had ever happened.

But the bells lie silent, collecting dust, and students are nowhere to be seen.

There is no place for students in a war, after all, no place for children in an adult’s world.

Byleth knows that one of her students likely has her pegasus, and that Gaia is not going to be eagerly waiting for her in her stall. She knows this, but it does not stop her from going to the stables anyways.

As expected, Gaia’s stall is empty. But it is not dusty with misuse, covered in mold and decay. 

There is fresh straw on the floor, and it is arranged in a familiar pile, with a few purple scales strewn around it.

A nest. 

A _ wyvern _ nest.

She clenches her fists a little despite herself.

How _ dare _someone—

She hears footsteps and quickly turns around, reaching for the familiar weight of the Sword of the Creator at her hip and moving to hold it out in front of her with well practiced motions.

_At least some things have stayed the same._

Byleth finds herself face to face with one of the biggest wyverns she has ever seen, and it doesn’t look friendly. It bares its teeth at her, letting out a fearsome growl.

She is not scared. She has taken down demonic beasts, monsters far bigger than this wyvern could ever dream of being.

She tenses her grip around her sword, and the wyvern hisses, tail slowly whipping back and forth.

It’s a standoff, and neither are willing to give in until she hears voices—one familiar, one not—call across.

“Licia, be telling your wyvern to back off! That is the professor!”

Petra. Was this her wyvern? What had happened to Kallisto? 

“Barney, down.”

_I guess this isn’t her wyvern then. It makes sense, Petra would have known better than to put her wyvern in Gaia’s stall._

The wyvern huffs, before turning and stomping towards an unfamiliar girl. 

Byleth lowers her sword, slowly.

Petra has grown, and her outfit has changed, but Byleth would recognize that voice anywhere.

“Professor… where were you being? We were looking for you everywhere, but could not be finding you,” says Petra, as she approaches.

_We thought you were dead._

Petra does not say it, but Byleth can read between the lines. 

“I was asleep,” she says. 

_I might as well have been dead._

There is a brief, awkward silence as they simply stare at each other, before Petra steps forward and hugs her.

“We were missing you greatly, professor.”

“And I missed you as well,” she replies, but the words feel hollow on her tongue.

She wants to say that she missed her students too, and mean it. But it doesn’t feel, to her, like they were ever gone. Yesterday morning they all ate together and geared up for battle. And today, she woke up only to find out she had overslept for five years, and the world had moved on without her.

She can control time, to a degree. She can rewind it, she can slow it, but she cannot stop it. Time does not stop for one woman, blessed by the goddess or not.

“Edie will be very happy to be seeing you!” says Petra, pulling back from the hug. “She has been being very sad since you have been gone.”

Byleth raises an eyebrow. “Edie?” 

Petra’s cheeks redden slightly. 

“Since you have been…” she trails off, as if looking for the right words. “gone, Dorothea has been helping me greatly with the Fodlan language. I have been picking up some of her way of speaking a bit because of this, I am being told.”

“Dorothea did a good job, then,” she says with a smile. “You’ve improved a lot.”

Petra grins, and clearly wants to say more, before they are interrupted by the other girl clearing her throat.

“Are you two going to just stand there, or will you move so I can put Barney away?” she asks, frowning.

Petra turns and frowns. “I told you not to use this stall,” she says. 

The girl shrugs. “Most of the others weren’t in good enough shape to use. Sorry.”

Petra huffs slightly. “There are others you could be using.”

“Oh,” says Petra, turning back towards Byleth. “I was almost forgetting, you have not met Licia yet, have you?”

“No,” replies Byleth, “You’re right. I haven’t.”

At the next words Petra says, Byleth’s brain short-circuits like a poorly made spell circle.

“She is Edie’s sister,” says Petra. “You will like her.”

It rings in her head, repeating over and over again.

_ Edie’s sister. _

_ “Do you know why I am heir to the throne, professor?” said Edelgard. “It is because I am the last one left to inherit it.” _

_ Edie’s sister. _

_ “I was one of twelve siblings. Now, I am an only child.” _

_ Not anymore, apparently. _

_ Edie’s sister. _

_ Huh. _

“Come,” says Petra. “Edie will wish to be seeing you.”

* * *

Byleth knew from the moment she saw Petra that five years had really passed, but some part of her doesn’t fully accept it until the moment she sees Edelgard.

She stands regal like she always has, but the girl she had come to know so well no longer exists. The woman who stands in front of her is an emperor, aged by time, by ambition, by life. 

“You’re really here,” says Edelgard, almost breathless, as if she, too, can’t believe the sight in front of her.

“I am,” confirms Byleth. She doesn’t know what else to say, really. 

“Sorry for oversleeping for five years,” just doesn’t feel like it will cut it.

Edelgard’s hands move as if she wants to reach out, but hesitates.

“Where have you been, Professor?” she asks. “We thought you were dead.”

“I thought I was,” says Byleth. “for a while, anyways.”

Edelgard frowns. “This is no time for jokes, Professor.”

“You know I’ve never been one for jokes,” points out Byleth. 

“If you weren’t dead, then where were you?” says Edelgard. 

“Asleep,” she replies, because what else can she say? It’s the truth.

There’s a brief moment of silence before Edelgard sighs and lets out a bitter chuckle. “Considering I’ve seen you do the impossible time and time again, I really shouldn’t be surprised. Asleep for five years… that’s a tall order, even for you.”

“I know it’s hard to believe,” says Byleth, “and I’m truly sorry I haven’t been there for you all. I would have come back sooner had I been able.”

“You’re here now,” says Edelgard. “I cannot fault you when you are not the first person we’ve had return from the grave.”

“About that,” says Byleth, “It seems I’ve missed quite a lot. Care to fill me in over some tea?”

Edelgard smiles. “I’d be delighted to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for how sloppy this is. This project is basically a straight brain-to-paper passion project with little-to-no planning and that finally caught up with me. I had to actually plan some stuff out and it took me FOREVER. When I wasn't touching canon much at all, it was far easier to just go "screw it writing time" and just make a whole ch in a day. But now that canon chars are involved, I had to think a lot more about their POV. I'm rambling but overall this fic (although not my finest work by any means) has such a dear place in my heart and I love Adalicia sm. Thus, I finally let her out of baby jail after months. 
> 
> The part with the lullaby is extremely personal to me because I can't even begin to count the amount of times I've bawled my eyes out to that song. I used to listen to it to fall asleep as a child, and it has an especially special place in my heart. What can I say, I'm projecting on to my OCs lmao.
> 
> In other news, am I abusing timeskips? Yes. Do I care? No.
> 
> This has been a fun journey, and I kinda feel like I've achieved what i wanted, which was to give an OC I had in my brain a real backstory and personality. Thanks for putting up with my BS, stay safe ya'll, and best wishes.


End file.
